The Week that Was

Otherwise known as the week of the CFD. So, why did I take CFD? The only reason was to get to Madrid and take in the city. Which I did, by the way. The added bonus was all the cool folk I met in class. Lets see if I got the tally right, three Germans, four Belgians, one Austrian, two Frenchmen, a Czech guy and a girl from Morocco. And then of course there was me. The solitary Indian. (What did you say? No, no...I'm not smiling. Honest.)

Anyway, let me first say that the German stereotype I had, etched in my head is all gone. Blown away to bits. Teeny tiny bits. Germans are friendly. Well, friendlier than all the Belgians...put together. Or maybe its just that, these particular mix of Germans and Belgians were a strange batch. Quite possible. But wait, lets just focus on this crowd here. Other hypothetical situations for another time. One of the German guys had a super thick accent. Golly, it was thick. Just like that learn English advertisement with the German coastguard. The Austrian guy also had a thick accent. He was cool too. Been there, done that kinda guy. One of the Belgians hung out with us. One of those serious chaps. He told his jokes in a grave manner and a straight face. That added to the humour. Heh...but you should have been there to actually experience that. The other Belgian guys didn't bother integrating. They kept to themselves and getting into conversation with them was impossible. For me anyway. The Czech guy also kept to himself but I think that was because he was ill. And near the end at the farewell party he asked me questions about India and how we couldn't drink beer and party there. Now, I didn't exactly roll about on the floor and laugh my guts out but I did manage to correct his view. He in turn corrected some myths I had been harboring about beer. Apparently they have a city in the Czech Republic called Pilsen and that's where pils originated. I had a hard time believing that, what with my recent Belgian trip and all, but Wikipedia confirms it all so.....As for the French, they kept to themselves too, but I suspect that was because of the language thing. Yeah, they love their language. But the Moroccan girl probably influenced them and therefore they didn't have a problem with group integration. Cool, eh? An unlikely mix, but a good mix nonetheless.
On day two, we began our cooking escapades. The first time it was just the two German guys without the thick accent, the Planner and me. It was simple stuff, just pasta bolognese, but incredibly well made. And there was enough leftover so we asked around at the crowded hostel kitchen and a French group took it of our hands. That kinda started a buzz. The next day, the Austrian, the Belgian and the thick accented German joined us. More fancy cooking, full stomachs and leftovers (which were gladly accepted by the French) later it was official. The CFD lads could cook. And cook well. This continued for the whole week.
For lunch of course we were at the faculty cafeteria. Have I mentioned how much Spanish folk eat? No? Well, they eat a lot. And everything they eat is soaked in oil. I guess, all that dancing helps keep the weight in check. At one time I was separated from the German/Austrian/Belgian clique and was eating by myself when.....surprise, surprise...I was joined by the French group. Of course, I was glad of it. Always a pleasure to talk with people with different mindsets. The conversations were interesting.
"Hey, I just saw Slumdog Millionaire. Does that stuff really happen in your country?"
Umm.....yep.
"How are you finding the Netherlands? Good? You need to visit the South European countries like France, Italy and Spain......more"
Hahahaha.....they just couldn't resist saying that.
"You're in Spain. You need to drink more wine rather than beer"
You said it dude.
"You need to hang out with the South European people more. Otherwise wherever you go you will see large beer mugs" (I am not making this up.)
At this point I was laughing and pretty much choking on my food. Trust the Frenchies to come up with something like that. Maybe the French translation makes more sense. The lunch and the conversation ended with them urging me to drink more wine, eat paella and indulge in other Spanish delicacies.
This is one of the nifty parts of the EU. They're small as it is, but the differences they have are phenomenally large which makes life all the more interesting. Hope I get to meet all the EU folk before I leave here.
Now, for the Chueca episode. When we first got there, we were all gung ho about wanting to try Spanish food. So we made some inquiries at the hostel reception and the guy told us that the best place for food is Chueca. On our way to the Metro, one of us was looking at the map, when a Spanish man just walked up and asked if he could help. He then proceeded to tell us that Chueca was the best place for food and very kindly pointed it to us on the map. Now this was kind of weird for me, because ...well...I've never seen it been done elsewhere. But apparently, this was normal behavior in Madrid, helping tourists and all. (By the way, all conversations were in Spanish, so t'was only the Spanish speaking folk doing the talking). Ok, so that was two thumbs up for Chueca. So we made it there, stumbled out of the metro station and hunted for a good eating place..of which there were plenty. However, in addition to the numerous tapas joints, there were also an equal number of porno rental shops, sex shops, clubs and other such establishments. Mostly with pictures of semi-nude,big-muscled and well-oiled men on the front. The realization that Chueca was Madrid's gay district wasn't like a hammer blow to the head or anything. More like a mild electric shock. Not that I'm against these chaps or anything, but the sight of men tongue kissing at street corners and penis shaped door knobs shakes the unprepared soul to no small extent. Just wish somebody had warned us. Oh, by the way, food at Cheuca is top notch stuff. Delicious and all, but rather meager in quantity for the amount we paid. That was my only grouse, but perhaps it was only me.
As for the other delicacies we tried in Madrid: First there were churo's. Incredibly sweet, incredibly filling, incredibly tasty. Sadly, the ensuing brain freeze prevents you from ordering more of it. Then there was an deadly mixture of eggs and bacon/fish and oil. Yep, oil. It was like the third ingredient. I forget what this was called, but this was a traditional dish. The eggs and meat were delicious, but the oil killed all appetite. Perhaps it was intentional. Finally, there was Stomach of Cow. Again, I forget the Spanish name, but this was also a traditional dish. It was ok. Pretty bland. And it felt spongy and rubbery on the teeth. Ah, well, an experience is an experience, eh?
The last evening in town was spent with good ol' Loudmouth Lad. Lots of beer and lots of Sangria went down the hatch that night. The good old days were discussed with great back-slapping and hi-fiving. Of course, I must say, that the present days were also discussed with equal camaraderie. I mean, these are good times, aren't they? On this note let me introduce El Tigre to you. Its where we were for the first part of the evening. El Tigre is a tapas bar where you order a beer and you get a plate of free food. How cool is that? Apparently this is common here, but El Tigre was the only place I had been to which actually did this. And just a little heads up, lads. El Tigre was packed with foreigners/tourists.
And that chaps, was The Week that Was. And thus my Madrid narrative comes to an end. Of course, if I remember anything more, I shall pack it in here. So until then.......

Madrid: Sights and Sounds

Well, the first weekend in Madrid was devoted to mostly the sightseeing stuff. The whole thing was organized by the University. They split us up into groups, assigned a couple of Spanish students to each group and off we went. But before that they gave us a lunch. My gosh! I stuffed myself with so much ham sandwiches and the tortilla stuff, that I'm pretty sure I presented a ghastly spectacle of myself. I would have felt bad, but my fellow students kept 1-uping me, so by the end of the whole ordeal we were sprawled all over the place finding it difficult to move. In retrospect it was a good move because the tramping-about-the-city thing lasted quite a while.
So, about this walking thing....they gave us a piece of paper in which there were a bunch of locations and a bunch of questions relating to the locations, the general idea being that once we got to the location we would prance around, looking for Spanish folk to help us with the questions. The Spanish students of course weren't allowed to help. They just stared with a bemused expression on their faces. I'm not sure what the object of the exercise was but I learnt that most Spanish folk don't speak English. Darn frustrating it was. After a while, I pretty much gave up and let things be. The penalty for not finishing the exercise led to some weird activities (including me dancing the Macarena in the street along with some other chaps), but the Spanish students with us ensured that a fun time was had by all. On one occasion though, an old lady lost it and started yelling about how university students were ruining her life and what not. So, while the rest of us foreigners were huddled together, the Spanish students swung into action and placated her and sent her off. Apart from this, they were super enthusiastic and also were incredibly helpful.
"Hands on your wallets in this part of town. There's thieving afoot"
"In this area too"
"Also, in this area"
and other such information. After I heard reports of various student folk getting their pockets picked (during the course of the week), I was pretty glad that these guys were assigned to us.
They also taught us the alcol song, in Spanish. I don't remember the Spanish words but the gist of it was "Alcol, alcol, alcol. We're here to get drunk. we don't care about the outcome. Alcol, alcol, alcol....". We sounded it out in one of the city squares, and then sang it again as we were walking around. The locals gave us some strange looks, but that was it. None of the "Cease that infernal racket!" stuff.

Typical scene in downtown Madrid. Old buildings, busy streets, the works...

King Neptune. Why? Probably roman heritage stuff.

Madrid's coat of arms. Bear helping himself to strawberries. (I don't know. So before you ask...don't ask.)

The center of Madrid, also probably Spain, from the looks of it. (Yep, that's my shoe.)

The scene as we were leaving Sol. Sol means sun, and the name was given to the gate that used to be there. The gate apparently faced east and you could see the sun as it rose (in the old days, in the old days!!). But as you have cleverly figured out, this view faces the west. Quite a good view actually.

One of the fancier (and probably the oldest) squares in Madrid. It had seven entrances which for some reason was a big deal back in the old days. Also, I think its still a big deal. Hmmm...perhaps I should have payed more attention during the explanation.

This sort of thing is common everywhere. This and street musicians. Wonder if they make enough.

Mercado san Miguel. A market place/drinking place/eating place. Don't know if all mercado's are like this.

Old fancy cathedral. While we had to pay one Euro to enter, the interior was dimly lit. Paintings and sculptures could be lit up on deposit of additional Euro's in conveniently placed boxes. Good idea, sure. Only I ain't that well off. And by the looks of it, neither were the other tourists with me. The other cool thing inside was the occasional voice booming through the speakers, in response to the buzz of the rabble. "SILENCIO.....por favor." That would silence then for a while, but then the muted conversations would start again. Heh heh heh...

The palace. Since, there was some sort of (large) entry fee, we didn't go in. The Planner was livid. "In my country its free, completely free" he said, shaking his head sadly. Ach well....

The temple of Debod. Very fancy stuff this. 'Twas donated by the Egyptian government to Spain for help received during the construction of the Aswan dam. Look up Wikipedia for more details. Also visit this place when you get to Madrid.

The highlight of the weekend was, of course, meeting up with Loudmouth Lad. Why Loudmouth? Well, if you'd met him, you wouldn't be asking the question. Suffice to say he had a reputation for vociferousness right back from the old days. I hadn't met this chappie in a long, long time. Lets see now. We graduated in 2005 after which he took off to Canada. Then, there was this one meeting in Bangalore, sometime before I came to Holland with the usual beer quaffing. Apart from that....nothing. So, now, here he was for some fancy MBA program. Had he changed? Hahaha...not a chance. Sure, we'd ribbed him back then about the Canadian accent, but now that was slowly giving way to a normal one and before soon, probably, a Spanglish accent. Heh. Anyway, bear-hugs were exchanged, general craziness ensued, comments were made about my weight, the usual stuff. And then we hung out at Mercado san Miguel with his clique. Quite an interesting crowd. Folk from all over the world and all that. Guess that's the cool part about an MBA program. Some wine, a little beer, plenty of good conversation and heaps of tortilla later it was time to go. (Metro service shuts down at 1:30. Unfortunate, yes, but what are you gonna do?)
On Sunday, us student folk went to the Prado and Reine Sofia museums. The Prado had all the fancy stuff, colourful masterpieces and all that while the Reine Sofia has modern art. Now, I'm not a fan of this modern art stuff, so if you ask me I'd say skip this one and go straight to the Prado. That way, you'll have more time there. I could stick some pictures here but really, there would be no end to it. Best if you did the trip yourself.
That's it for now lads. Till later.

Maximum City (Dos)

Well, I wouldn't want to call Madrid Maximum city, the original title being taken and all, but I must say the city is alive, pulsing with life and bursting at the seams with all sorts of activity. But, before all that, let me start at the beginning. The flight was uneventful, no mishaps, nothing. I expected the typical crap, so I did the usual split-underwear-between-bags trick. But...nothing. I was traveling with one of my friends, the Planner, but blow me down if there weren't a whole bunch of characters from Delft. All of 'em heading to Madrid, some for the exchange program and others for vacation. A nice little reunion was had before we boarded the craft.
The landing at Madrid was smooth. Have I ever mentioned how much I like smooth landings? Our hostel was situated in downtown Madrid. The old historical downtown, not the new downtown with all fancy buildings. And the best way to travel in Madrid? Metro, baby. Sheer pleasure, if you ask me. That was officially the best metro network I've seen. Criss-crossed the whole city and made every location accessible. We bought the one week tourist pass which means you can use the metro innumerable times for one week. A pretty nifty deal if you plan to do plenty of touristy stuff. But since we were here for a course it would have made more sense (economically) to pick up the ten-rides ticket. But heck, not that I'm complaining. Just telling you.
With all the pickpocket stories I heard before I got here, I went into India mode as soon as I stepped out the airport. My wallet was in my front pocket of my scraggly jeans and the thumb of my hand was hooked nonchalantly into the same pocket. Of course, a professional would have ripped out my pockets without me knowing it. Still, we all gotta do what we all gotta do.
At the hostel we got to our room and it was occupied...by a Greek girl no less. One of those 'holy-moly' moments. The worst part was the rooms had some sort of annoying electronic lock system so we were trying to open the door for a good five minutes before we finally got in. Making a ruckus the whole "what's-wrong-with-this-door?" time, I might add. Wonder what she was thinking, on the inside. Because she sure didn't come and open the door for us. Anyway after we popped in, we all adopted the customary shocked-frozen-statue pose, then we exchanged mutually confused looks before we launched into introductions. Of course we didn't stay long there. The Planner and me took off to explore the surroundings. Before you all die of curiosity, let me tell you, we were moved from that room to another room. Presumably the girl told the hostel chappie about the situation and everything was resolved. Darn awkward it would have been otherwise.
The first night out in Madrid was pretty interesting, mostly because the place was bustling with activity. Buildings were lit up and city squares were chock full with middle aged diners.
We tried the fancy Spanish wines. Brilliant stuff, absolutely brilliant. You've got to do it. Don't leave Spain without trying them wines.
With the wines we also had Jamon Serrano, which is a sort of ham, typical of Spain. Apparently the pigs are fed one specific type of nut the whole time. No normal pig food, just this nut. Ay caramba!! To be honest I wasn't so gung-ho on the ham. It had large bits of fat on it and I don't like fat. Uuugh!!! To top it off we had Tortilla Espanola, which is a pie type thingy with potatoes and egg. (Yeah, yeah, I know its called a Spanish omlette, but I still can't get myself to call it that.)I was instantly hooked and over the coming days I would be shoveling large chunks of the stuff down the hatch with nary a care for my arteries.
After all that, we strolled here and there but nothing else blog-worthy happened except of course for the bikes being hauled to impound. Heh heh....whaddya know, it happens here as well.
That's it for now. Adios!

Long time no see

I've been terribly remiss about this blog, now haven't I? Well, its been a real busy month, this. I finally got back to Delft last Sunday after a solid 9 days in Madrid. Yep, Madrid. Eat your heart out, chaps. But seriously, now that I'm back I need to tie up all loose ends related to academia. About time I started to churn out those results and things, otherwise I'll end up spending more time at the university and that's not so light on the ol' wallet. Settling back into the Delft routine wasn't tough. In fact it rained while I was on the way home from the station and soaked me to my socks. Not that I'm ticked off or anything. It was the most appropriate Welcome-Back gesture. Holland, baby.

In other news, the sixty Euro running-the-red-light fine arrived. Only it came with a six Euro administrative fee. I feel the pinch lads. Ouch.
Also, I've got to add, Family Guy is officially on my crap list. I mean, did you watch that recent episode? An absolute travesty lads. Totally disgusting. What are they trying to do? Test viewer loyalty? Well, they've lost me for sure. Or did the talent all get up and walk away? Even Stewie and Brian don't seem to be doing anything remotely funny. In fact, the only thing I was doing while watching the last episode was desperately clenching my fists and restraining myself from rushing to the sink and scooping my brains out with a soup ladle. Gaaah!!

Anyway, the next few posts are going to be about Madrid, the one week exchange program (of course, why else do you think I went to Madrid? Holiday?) and other general student madness. Just thought I'd let you know.

'Day of the dead' or 'El dia de los Muertos'

Or rather, the day of the dead party. But lets face it, that title caught your eye didn't it? Have I mentioned how good Latin American parties are? No? Well, take it from me, they sure know how to have a good time. The day of the dead is officially on November 2nd, but the Latin American crowd in Delft decided to kick it off this weekend. What happens on the day of the dead? Apparently its something like All Souls Day, where people remember the dead folk. Just wiki it or google it. You'll get all the gory details. But, as a good Mexican friend of mine aptly put it, yelling in my ear over the loud music, "Its just another reason to party". No reason to argue with her.
Anyway, the scene at the place was complete with the altar and skulls and candy and poems and the works. No Catrinas though. Latin American lasses with jet black tresses mingled with shiny-shirted Latin American chaps, laughing and yelling the whole time. Too stereotypical, you think? You don't hear me complaining now, do you? Of course, no Latin American party would be complete without the fancy salsa stuff and it was there, all right. Oodles of it. This dancing stuff is in their genes. Their hips move fluidly with the music and their feet are ever so light. Even their foot tapping is amazing. Gosh, its times like this that makes you think about the unfairness of it all. I mean look at us Indians. All we've got is some movie-esq, vulgar pelvic thrusting. Sensual, forsooth!! Its only a matter of time before some poor viewer gets his eyes poked out.
This time I resolved not to be a party wallflower. I dove resolutely into the crowd and tried shaking a leg. The end result was predictably unfortunate. As patient and as nice as my good Latin American amigo's were, I ended up looking like there was a two by four stuck in my butt. Ach, well, always a next time, I suppose. The music alternated between the fancy salsa stuff and anti-establishment songs. Anti-establishment songs are good in the sense that I can at least tap my foot to it. Of course when you feel the frost-bite in your toes mere foot tapping will not help. In which case there's nothing to beat jumping about in a crowd, pumping the air with your fists and repeatedly yelling Puto! in tune with Molotov's song of the same name. And before you go bananas let be repeat here what a Mexican chappie told me. Puto is apparently a very common thing to say in those parts of the world. It doesn't mean any offense and apparently blends seamlessly with the local language. So there. But now that I've told you this don't go spouting the stuff at meetings and other social occasions. I won't be held responsible if you get the stuffing kicked out of you because of some clever Puto related joke you cracked at the last party you went to.
The other highlight of the evening was the chappies coming up to me and speaking Spanish. And when I say "Sorry, nada espanol" (I know, i know, its bad Spanish), they do a double take and go "Ah, sorry, how was I to know? You looked like you were from our parts." The grin on my face on these particular occasions nearly split my head in half. I typically respond with a "No problemo. Gracias." And if you think that total strangers are doing this to make me happy, well, then I'm just going to have to ignore you. Although this does make me wish I'd learnt some Spanish by now. All in all a good time, lads.
Enjoy the official 'Day of the dead'. While you're at it polish some gravestones. Also, whack some stuff from the altars. It makes the good folk believe that the spirits of the dead people came back for some of their favorite thingys. Go on, now. Quick, while no one is looking.

Some R & R? No, not really.

Have you ever had these mind numbing headaches at times? Coupled with an accelerated heartbeat? And then the vein in your forehead does this weird dance, shifting and sliding everywhere to the point where you have to use one finger (or two) to hold it in place? Yes? Me too. And has it happened that one day while you were at the supermarket, Angelina Joile meets you at the check-out counter and explains that this is because you are a gifted person, with a heightened sense of perception, one of the very few in this world, and that she needs your help? And then she takes you in and trains you to be a deadly assassin, teaching you fancy skills like train-jumping, bullet-curving, getaway car-driving and the like? No? Me neither. Siiiiiigh. I guess until that happens I'd better find a way to deal with these blasted migraines and the bulging forehead vein.
In other news, I just finished the toughest three credit course I have ever taken. (Of course every three-credit course I take is the toughest....until the next three-credit course comes along). But this course was a nifty one. It involved camping out at the University, eating food out of vending machines, drinking gallons of coffee and working with the Perfectionist. All in all, a good experience. The Perfectionist had to do everything incredibly....well...perfectly. Don't know how he does it or where he finds the time. He says he's Dutch, but I'm pretty sure there's a connection between his birthday and the day planet Krypton exploded. And I'm too bushed to do any investigative journalism, so the only thing you can expect from me are these tabloid like statements. A perfectionist in the team is a pretty neat thing actually. The only problem is, it makes my work look very sloppy. Ah well, can't win 'em all. I'm just hoping for a decent grade. The course ended with drinks at the Waag, the unofficial haunt of the Offshore Wind Turbine group (as I like to call them). This is one of their traditions, and a darn good one if I may say so. As one of the profs explained to me over a glass of frosty beer "As important as it is to finish assignments and meet deadlines, its just as important to make contacts and develop a good network. Also, the perfect way to unwind after a stressful course" Pearls of wisdom, lads, pearls of wisdom. If only I could import some of this back home....
Now, all I have left to look forward to are the upcoming exams, my project report submission, my thesis proposal submission, the actual thesis work, Dutch lessons...good grief. The list just doesn't stop. I guess its still not time to wean myself away from my caffeine addiction. That and my cravings for heavily salted snacks. The legacy of my camping-out-at-the-university days.
Anyway, gotto go. Maxwell's equations beckon. Take care now.

Cops

A singularly uneventful week, except for the usual mounds of unfinished work. That, and a sixty Euro fine for running a red light. Another dent in the ol' college fund. Siiiiiigh!
It happened on the way to the swimming pool. We were cycling , a nice quiet ride at 7:30 in the morning, the Swim Buddy and me. The sun was just about kicking in and doing its stuff. At about this time there is hardly anyone in the streets. Pretty sparse, if you get my drift. So, there we were biking along, engaged in some intense conversation when suddenly there was this blue blur and this lady cop is riding along side us. "Jongen", she said "Met de politie...". At these words, my heart slowly slid down and reached my stomach region. Quite possibly, the ol' stomach acids got to work on the cardiac tissue. I'm not too sure about this last bit though. I was feeling quite numb. The reasons for this were quite varied. One, I had no identification whatsoever, this being my usual practice when I go to the pool. I leave my stuff in the general area of the swimming complex and it is safe, but still, I never take my wallet and other unnecessary things there. Two, my bike lamps were off. It should have been on because it was still kind of dark. Bikes with dynamo's being such a pain and all that. The Swim Buddy was also feeling the same way as his predicament was pretty similar to mine. Except that his front light was on, but this tail light was off.
So, she directed us to the side and the Swim Buddy and me resigned to our individual fates slowly mounted the kerb, parked and dismounted. The Policewoman, zig-zagged around with her fancy bike and parked strategically in front of us, doubtless to prevent any hastily thought up escape plan. Not that we'd stand a chance against that sleek 18-gear monster she was riding.
She calmly let us know that we'd jumped a red light. The two of us simultaneously whipped around to check out the lights. But we couldn't really see the lights. (I mean, we just passed them). Besides, I don't really remember checking out the lights before we crossed the intersection, so she was most probably right. Once the Policewoman realized that I was a foreigner she spoke to me in English. Rather nice of her. She spoke to the Swim Buddy in Dutch and then said the same thing to me in English. Cops, this polite, back home? Forget it. I could have told her that I did understand a little Dutch, but I thought it prudent to clam up and let the Swim Buddy handle the conversation. She told us that she'd have to fine us sixty Euro's each and then asked for some identification. Increased stomach acid activity at this point. The Swim Buddy explained that we were on our way to the pool and therefore didn't have any identification. This is it, I recall telling myself, She's going to call for backup, we'll get hauled to jail and then I get deported. Bye Bye Holland. Well, she didn't do any of that, but she did tell us that the fine for not carrying an proper ID was fifty Euros. The stomach acids were having a party. I could hear the drums. We madly scrambled around in our bags for some form of identification, but really, there was no hope. I just had my sports card and that wasn't much. I think she noticed the condition of our bike lights, but she probably decided to give that a miss. Just as well. My stomach wouldn't have handled the strain.
She started to write the fine down and then paused, looked at us and asked us what time we had to be at the swimming pool. One of those "Whaaaaaat???" moments. The Swim Buddy said that we generally stayed there for three quarters of an hour. She promptly closed the book, took out her note book and asked for our names and addresses so that the police department could mail us the fines. Good Grief, I was thinking We don't have ID's and proof of address. Are you really going to trust us? Well, she did trust us. No idea why. Perhaps the honest face of.......Never mind, never mind.
Anyway, we gave her our names and addresses. Our real names and addresses. She told us we were being fined just for the red light bloomer and to expect the bill in six weeks. She also told us to carry a proper ID at all times. And you've got to keep in mind, the whole time she was talking in Dutch to the Swim Buddy and then repeating the same thing in English for my benefit. The whole time. Can cops get nicer than this? I think not.
Not bad for my first experience with Dutch cops. Ok, my second experience. The first time was when I was biking in a pedestrian zone, when presto, this cop comes out of nowhere and lays the law down. I escaped, unscathed, that time by pulling the dumb foreigner act. I sorry. Engels? Engels? It worked that time partly because he was a guy. You know what I mean. Guys tend to ignore these little things. Women, on the other hand will go to great lengths to make sure you pay for every tiny thing you did. In retrospect, I suppose, the Policewoman could have let us off with a warning, what with it being a deserted street at daybreak and all that. But that would have gone against every instinct of Womanhood. Still, she fined us just sixty Euros. Just. I guess I should be grateful, eh?
Like I was saying, Dutch cops are ...well...nice. Lots of other people have also told me this, based on their experiences. Lets just hope it stays this way.