In August 1994, four intrepid PDE (Product Design Engineering) students, converged on the Netherlands for the start of their 10 month exchange period, at the Hanzehogeschool, Groningen.
This account is taken from the letters written back to their course-mates in Glasgow. To aid in navigating yourself through their web of trials and tribulations, please use the index below to skip directly to those areas which are of interest to you.
From the very first, our arrival in Delft heralded that things maybe just weren?t as well organised as perhaps we?d been led to believe! Just to start with the hostel we were to stay in had overbooked, and could not offer us the rooms we had requested (ie: small single rooms with sink).
Michael arrived first, and was forced to spend his night in what they described as a "day room" - essentially what any self-respecting prison would better describe as an "isolation room": 4 patchy-white walls, a wardrobe with no doors on it, a chair, a very basic bed, no sockets, no mirrors, no desk, no sink and little more than a yellowy 40W ceiling light to see what you were doing by. Furthermore this room had dimensions that wouldn?t have been out of place in a Hong Kong flat. And, in the door, there was a rather hazed up spy-hole (of the type to see in through, that is).
By the second day Martin and Mareike (the other 2 PDE students had shown up too, triplifying the problem for the hostel management. Eventually they were able to find Mareike a spare "small room with sink", but all they could come up with for Michael and Martin was the "appartment". The "appartment" was essentially a very large room, originally with 3 beds in it, a small balcony and an en-suite shower room ... and rather poor illumination from 2 equally dull ceiling lights. Soon they?d traded in the extra bed for 2 desks and 2 chairs. A couple of days later they managed to get an extra wardrobe (originally there was only one) and a few days after that they took delivery of a couple of desk lamps (each one as bright as the two ceiling lamps put together). By the end of their 3 weeks there, it was starting to become a rather comfortable place.
What never got better about the place though, was the food. In the evenings, the manager?s wife ran a sort of short-order restaurant-type service. It was both tiresomely slow (close to 2.5 hrs waiting for a plate of pasta topped with a pre-frozen sauce, was about the record one night!) and none too appetising when it finally arrived ... and hardly what you?d call value for money either! Everything came with chips on the side ... and nothing else. It appeared she ran a vegetable-free kitchen, from where vitamins and other nasty nutrients had long since been banned. After the 3 weeks our digestive systems had taken more than they could bear. In fact Martin had long since taken to smuggling in bread and other essential supplies into his room (quite against the rules, of course), and was surviving on crudely assembled sandwiches.
On the language course front, all was not rosy either. When we arrived in Delft we were greeted by a fax from Groningen warning us that everyone else on the language course had started the week before: getting books, tapes and even homework! All we had was an address with a room N° and a time to show up there on Monday morning!
Michael was in a different class from Mareike and Martin (meaning he started at 8:30am, whilst they only began at 9:00am). For all of us, the first day was quite ridiculous since we really hadn?t a clue what was going on. Although the fax had assured us the teachers had been warned of our late arrival, none of the teachers seemed aware of the fact. To make matters worse, the lessons were conducted in Dutch, and all explanations as to our identity were demanded from us in Dutch, too! Our only recourse was to put on our best "totally baffled" faces and hope an English translation might be offered.
The way the "Delftse Methode" works is that you get a book with accompanying tapes. The book has 45 chapters, each with about a page of new text with up to 150 new words in it (about 50 new words per chapter, on average). Each chapter set out to inform you about a different aspect of life in the Netherlands and was followed by a series of exercises.
Every day we covered 3 new chapters in two 1hr lessons. Each lesson was followed by half an hour on the computer. The lessons were basically discussion sessions, in Dutch, about the contents of the chapter. The sessions on the computer were mostly dictations, either of an extract from each chapter or a never-heard-before piece of text which used the same vocabulary we?d already covered. The aim was to successfully do all the dictations for the chapters covered in a day, that same day. The only problem was that if you did not get at least 80% you could not go on to the next chapter?s dictation and you could not re-attempt the same chapter until the next session ... half a day later!
Despite his multi-lingual background, dictations had always been Michael's weakest point. It did not take him long to fall behind. In the first one he attempted, he got a very respectable 26% (not bad since he?d never spoken a word of Dutch in his life, never mind seen the book or anything like that!).
By the end of the first week, if you were more than 2 days behind with the dictations they invited you to leave the course and join the slow stream. Therefore, just before the computer session on Friday afternoon, Michael was duly singled out (along with three others, one should hasten to add) and "invited" to leave the course. He quite flatly refused the invitation, of course. This, naturally, rather upset the teacher, but switching course was not an option. And anyway, as he told her, he did not think much of the dictations as a means of judging his progress! ... All a bit academic, really, since within 10 mins. of this little chat he?d wizzed through about 4 dictations quite successfully and thus completed more than the minimum 9 "before the end of the first week"!
If truth be told, Michael never did improve much in the dictations ... but he did learn how to beat the computer: by writing all the permutations of the words he wasn?t sure of, The computer ignored the mistakes and only counted the correct words! As for the dictations that weren?t straight out of the book, he always seemed to do far better at them anyway.
Martin & Mareike were far better students than Michael. Martin in particular. About half way through the first week it seemed to suddenly dawn on him that speaking another language would be a mighty fine thing. His determination was quite astounding and lasted him through the year. Mareike, being German, had far fewer problems with the language, so naturally progressed rapidly. Michael, on the other hand, invariably found that the people around him spoke at least one of his other languages and always opted for the path of least resistance. This has meant that all his linguistic skills were employed pretty much daily, perhaps at the expense of improving his Dutch. Also, Martin and Mareike?s group started using Dutch with each other from pretty early on. This never happened in Michael's group.
All three succeeded in passing the course with a pretty good mark (despite the misgivings), and went on to complete two more levels of Dutch lessons through evening classes at the Rijks Universiteit Groningen.
Delft is a relatively small city. During the academic year it boasts plenty of students, apparently, but we saw little of this. Historically, Delft is quite important. It was home to the throne of the original William of Orange and still bears the hole of the bullet that killed him (... and his tomb too, amongst other things). In true Dutch style, Delft has more than its fair share of quaint canals. These are more often than not lined by cycling paths and clustered little houses with big windows just urging you to peek inside.
The average Dutch house is simply, yet comfortably, (and one would dare say: conveniently) furnished. They seem experts at making the best of what little room they have. One of their most perplexing furnishing habits, is perhaps the custom of providing a park bench just outside their front windows (which, almost invariably, look out directly onto the pavement). It is not clear whether these are an invitation to passers by to rest their feet, or perhaps more subtly a first line of defence against peeping toms and other intruders getting too close to the window.
Delft?s city centre is mostly quite old. Pride of place is given to its own particular rendition of the ubiquitous "Grotte Markt". A couple of other smaller more intimate market squares also emerge here and there, and all get full use every Saturday (market day). Other buildings worth a mention in Delft include its bell-tower (with "the biggest carillon in Europe" .. a popular claim) and a N° of museums.
Most of the museums are dedicated to Delftware (the world renowned form of blue-and-white pottery). The rest generally embrace a few of the other fine arts. There are also plenty of bars and cafés, but few discotheques, and remarkably no "coffee shops" (in the areas we visited, at least).
On our second Monday all three of us drove over to Gouda and had supper with Peter, at his home. (Peter was the fourth, Dutch, member of our PDE expeditionary force). Getting to Gouda was easy, but seeing as we had only some sketchy telephoned instructions, and no address or phone N° on us, finding the house proved quite a challenge.
The meal itself was most enjoyable. Peter, fresh back from the "induction week" in Groningen, filled the rest in on what to expect. Martin and Mareike, and even Michael, made some effort to speak to Peter and his family in Dutch (and amazingly found themselves communicating quite successfully). But since (as is typical of the Dutch) they all spoke quite fluent English, they often lapsed back into English.
The meal was followed by a most Dutch of experiences: a bicycle ride around the Gouda lakes. The setting sun, reflecting off the gentle ripples of glistening water, in the freshness of the evening breeze, made for a most memorable experience. (Note to fact fans: the Gouda lakes wouldn?t exist at all if it weren?t for Peter?s great uncle who lead a campaign in the 1960?s to curb the Dutch obsession with draining all their land for land development and agriculture).
Another notable encounter, whilst in Delft, was with Philips ("Flip") Gerson (our main tutor in Groningen). He came down to see us on the first Saturday. He brought with him some rather surprising news and plenty of other information about what to expect here in Groningen.
The unwelcome news was that the exchange was not actually Erasmus after all, but merely a two-way agreement between the two institutions (and therefore not eligible for Erasmus classification - a situation which we understand has since been amended). This in turn would mean we?d have to pay our own fees. In due course, we?d get this money refunded by the Dutch government, but in the meantime we?d have to hand over wads of dosh that none of us had budgeted to be spending quite so early in the term.
Flip was also able to supply us with our timetable and offered that we might have our lessons (initially at least) in English. Martin and Mareike, feeling they would never pick up Dutch unless forced to struggle at it, insisted that this not be the case ... Michael just kept quiet. He realised the sense of their argument, but had misgivings regarding how it might work out in practice. They were, however, assured that all the teachers would provide them with English versions of the accompanying notes (aka: "diktaats", or "readers"), which they'd have to buy and read through in their own time.
These guarantees proved not to be entirely true and a lot of our time was spent translating the diktaats, before we could even start learning the subject matter. Another thing, which he just mentioned in passing, was that we were to be getting to Groningen one week after everyone else had started! Great! We?d be starting behind again!!
We started our first day at Groningen Polytechnic (RHG - Rijkhogeschool Groningen, or HHS - Hanzehogeschool, for short) by sitting our final test from the Delft course. This had been mailed up ahead of us to greet us upon our arrival! It was a fill in the blanks affair: 100 blanks, 10 in each of 10 extracts straight from the book. Pass-mark was set at 75% so despite the simplicity of the format we felt it would be touch and go.
When the results came back we discovered Michael got 87%. Not bad, since when he'd been invited to leave the course, the teacher had said "we really don?t believe you?ll ever pass the final test". (His response had been somewhere along the lines of "I don?t care about the final test, I?m here to gain exposure to the language" ... but then again, at the time he'd not been aware that passing the test was a prerequisite for 3 of our credits!). Martin, who'd never been doubted, got 79% and Mareike, thanks to her German, got 91% (having completed the test in under half the allowed time).
Like most things since we came to the country, our arrival in Groningen was not without its "surprises". Martin and Michael were both allocated rooms in an International Student House, at Albertine Agnesplein - some 15mins. walk from the RHG, and a similar distance from the city centre. Mareike was in a similar place on the other side of town (with the difference that she had a single room). Peter was originally to be in the same house as the other two boys, but after he saw it during the induction week he resolved to find himself alternative lodgings (and succeeded in doing so).
The International Student House is just that. Everyone there was foreign. What?s more most were there to improve their English and had little or no interest in learning any Dutch, particularly since all their lessons were in English too. Basically this meant Michael was back in his element: using 4 languages every day - Dutch being the least used of them! This preponderance of English also formed the principal reason why Martin sought to move out into a normal student house with proper Dutch people, as soon as was possible.
All but two of the rooms at Albertine Agnesplein are shared. They are all a reasonable size with an extra balcony type alcove built on to provide room for the second bed. The idea is quite nice, but the alcove is no more than 1.5m from the ceiling, meaning it is impossible to stand up once you are up there! To get up there you have to make use of a ladder. Falling down the ladder was almost an inevitable occurrence - though fortunately no-one suffered any great injury during our time there. Both Martin and Michael ended up stuck with the alcove bed. They soon got used to not standing up straight when getting out of bed.
For the rest, the rooms were not terribly well furnished. All we had each was: 1 desk with chair and reading lamp, 1 bed with bedding, and a half-width wardrobe. There was also a single (shared) arm-chair and a little wall-mounted cupboard. If we wanted anything else we?d have to go out and buy it! The lighting was pretty poor too. Michael solved this problem by rigging up a 100W bulb, connected to the one socket he found that was operated by the main switch. The main illumination before had been two rather feeble 40W wall-mounted light fittings.
Michael seemed to get through room-mates at a fair rate. His first room-mate was an Italian called Andrea. After about 10 days, Andrea was able to secure a single room and therefore moved out. It was a good week and a half before the next room-mate moved in. This time called Giovanni, he was also Italian, from Pisa. He arrived with a car-load of stuff, including a computer, which he somehow seemed to find room for.
As for the food, it was whatever we made of it. It?s self-catering, just without too many utensils! There were a few communal pots and pans provided and a single plate, glass, knife, fork, spoon, bowl and tea-spoon per person. It?s took some time to get used to these new limitations, as well as the new selection of ingredients available to us there.
Michael spent the first few weeks of his time in Groningen feeling ill, recovering from being ill or coming down with something all over again! The first time was on the first day at the poli. What started as a beastly throat irritation soon turned into a headache and by evening showed all signs of being the flu. That was of course the same day as the Delft exam and an avalanche of things hitting us in Dutch. In fact, that whole week we waded through a quagmire of urgent things that needed attending to. This naturally gave Michael no time to get better and so his flu got worse and his judgement hazier.
On the day when Michael's head was at its densest we were duly escorted to the bank to open an account. We were given no choice as to where to open an account and what?s more we were rushed into it so as to make sure we?d be in a position to pay our fees by Oct. 1st. In brief: the people at the International Office of the RHG assured us they?d done all the groundwork and told us this was the only bank we?d ever be able to open an account with.
It all seemed a bit suspicious, but none of us was in any state to anything about it, so we just went along. At the bank Michael went into the office first. He fought through the fog that was his brain desperately attempting to hold on to an idea long enough to ask the question it raised. A task made all the more difficult by the bank assistant?s evasive answers. Still, she must have thought him most rude as he confronted her with some basic banking theory on why banks should pay interest, not charge for services (such as using an ATM) and might even be akin to the idea of giving students special deals to ?buy? their custom. He was having a hard enough time just trying to be coherent, never mind polite!
What had put him off most though was that they had not heard of the system his UK bank had suggested he use to transfer his money. What?s more the only account they were offering us, offered no interest, no chance of getting a cheque book and a card that could only be used to get money from their ATMs! The fact that none of them had yet seen any of the bank's other branches in the country didn?t help sell this last point. In the end, warning the lady he was only doing it because he felt I had no other choice, he opened the account anyway.
Martin and Mareike, apparently less bothered by the whole charade, went in together to save time. They just signed blindly on the dotted line and left again. However, time would prove they too were no better convinced of what they'd had to do.
That night Michael phoned England. Then, taking the advice he?d got back from his UK bank, he went straight to the ABN-AMRO bank (perhaps the biggest bank in the Netherlands) and, without so much as an uncomfortable question, in under 20mins, he had opened an account with them. So much for it being ?impossible?! It wasn?t even problematic! This account gave him 3.5% interest, fortnightly statements, correspondence in English, a card he could use in any bank?s ATM (& as a debit card in most shops!), the option of a (Euro-)cheque book and a free compilation CD to boot! A far better deal all round. And, what with them being the correspondent bank of his UK bank, his money took under 7 days to come through from when he posted the request form.
To end the bank saga, the day after he?d opened the account with ABN, he was back at the first bank to close the account - no more than 3 days after he?d opened it. The clerk was naturally a bit astonished when Michael informed him he no longer had a need for the account. Then, despite the fact that he said he?d already gone to ABN to "enquire" about opening an account with them, the clerk still tried to tell him that it would be very difficult, indeed impossible, to open an account with any other bank. He went on about how it was only thanks to their having a "special agreement" with the RHG that they waived "all the usual requirements of proof of residence visa, credit record and other guarantees we?d find difficult, if not impossible, to furnish". He also said that no-one would consider us a worthwhile customer because we were in the country for such a short time.
Now more convinced than ever that he had done the right thing, Michael just left quietly, as soon as the paperwork had been signed. Boy, was he glad they never saw any of his money. The lying so & so?s!!
A foot-note to the whole saga is that Martin had numerous problems, being sent round in circles, when he tried to get them to establish a standing order by which he would pay the fees. (This was after all the very reason why we?d been told to open an account with them in the first place!). In the end he had had to get a letter from the RHG guaranteeing they would pay themselves on his behalf should he default ... all so the RHG could have a piece of paper to send to the government showing that he?d paid his fees!! Martin, later, also opened an account at the ABN (in fact virtually everyone at the international student house had their account with ABN, even those who are there for as little as 3 months, and from as far away as Canada!).
As for study: (as alluded to earlier) ALL our lessons are in Dutch. Some, but not all, of our lecturers provided ancillary reading matter in English. In some ways, given the subject matter, the fact that it was in Dutch made little difference to how much we actually understood. In certain subjects, such as Control Systems, we possibly understood more than first time round in Glasgow (this was mostly thanks to the book, and the fact that we?ve covered most of it before ... to such an extent in fact, that we were exempted from the exam). Others, such as Business Organisation, were as impenetrable as they ever were in English (having no English texts to refer to didn?t make it any easier).
The first term (the RHG ran a 4 ten week term academic year), we had 5 subjects: 2 lessons per day. Each lesson is 100min long, usually interrupted by a coffee break to attempt to reawaken at least a few of those present. The best part was that from 12:20pm on Friday till 2pm on Monday we had no lessons. Essentially a 3 day weekend!
On top of these lessons at the RHG, a few weeks into the term, we began twice weekly supplementary Dutch lessons at the University of Groningen, in the evenings on Tuesdays and Thursdays ( 6pm till 8pm - with the customary coffee-break mid-way). These were a lot more grammar based than those in Delft were. Still it provided a few lessons each week in which we could (for the most part) follow what was being said. And, no doubt it also maybe benefited our Dutch.
So, did we immediately become fluent in the local lingo? Er, no. Not so?s to speak. The main problem is that people who speak it well: a) speak too fast; b) speak English all too well and slip into it whenever they think you didn?t get it; c) TV is largely in English (with Dutch subtitles) or otherwise terrible talk shows or crummy cartoons; d) there are no indigenous speakers in the house's where we stayed. There were lots of Spanish, plenty of Poles, a number of Canadians, a few Italians, a couple of Portuguese, many a Brit (or Irish) and even the odd French speaker, but no-one who spoke any Dutch.
It was kind of disappointing, as every time one tried to watch some TV in Dutch there is someone there ogling at Neighbours, sucked into East-enders, or watching MTV (... complaining that there is no ITV so they?re having to miss Home And Away and Coronation Street!)!
As for our dates: the Dutch RHG's year is divided into 4 terms, each 10 weeks long. The first 7 weeks of each term are generally dedicated to lessons, followed by a week?s ?half-term? (to revise in) which leads on to up to 2 weeks of exams. Apparently, at the eleventh hour, we discovered we'd be furnished with the questions in English. However, it was not always clear whether this would be enough to save us. Each set of exams is generally followed by a week or so of holidays, by virtue of the fact that the exams rarely use up the full two weeks. However, X-mas through to New Year was our only proper official holiday of the year, till mid-June came along!. This was mainly because the second two terms we had to do a project in partnership with industry. What this would involve exactly, remained a bit of a foggy issue, right up until the time arrived.
So what about the "social" aspects of this here city? Generally the cafés range from the continental variety, through the variously themed, down to the British-style pub. Many have free live entertainment (Jazz is particularly popular). The discotheques are mostly free to get into and are often little more than bars with loud music and a dance-floor (with average bar prices too).
Groningen can also boast two red-light districts (one just North of the city centre, the other just South), both lie within the circular canal that rings the centre. We hasten to add, of course, that both were found by mistake whilst en-route to the city centre. Trade (in the red-light districts) would appear to be brisk, but god knows why, seeing the goods on display in the windows! (They really are more off-putting than titillating).
The other peculiarly Dutch cultural night-spot is the world renowned ?coffee-shop?. In these "locals" coffee is perhaps the weakest of the "refreshments" on offer. "Joint", in more ways than one, would perhaps be a more appropriate way of describing them. Naturally, we were all pretty successful in avoiding them, though one night a party heading into town from Agnesplein (which included more than one PDE student) insisted on routing itself via the local Jamaican bannered bodega. Well, we did follow them in, but despite it not being terribly busy at the time, it soon became advisable to set oneself squarely in the path of the external air vent in a covert attempt to try and breathe some real air amidst the haze.
One particularly apparent habit of the Dutch (the youth in particular) is that they virtually all appear to smoke (tobacco, that is), and quite profusely too. It is certainly very hard to ever sit in the company of others without at least one of them lighting up. This was certainly a contributing factor to Michael's feeling ill so often and even more so to his staying ill so long! The preference seems to be distinctly in favour of self-rolled cigarettes. This results in that ?being able to roll a cigarette whilst riding a bicycle? is almost a prerequisite basic social skill.
Other amazing talents you see people displaying whilst riding bikes include: wielding a fully opened umbrella against the rain and (the most astounding yet) conducting a spirited conversation in sign language ... all whilst riding along a busy street! In fact, "hands on handle-bars" appears to be decidedly passé!
Yes, as is a well-known fact, Holland has more than its fair share of bicycles. It is pretty much a vital extension of your being. You can not truly claim to have a life unless you have a bike. The whole situation can seem almost ludicrous when you see all the bikes flowing in haphazard formation at rush-hour. In cities like Groningen and Delft, with disproportionately high student populations, this phenomena is perhaps at its most accentuated.
Cyclists are a law onto themselves. Looking out for cars is a relatively simple affair, avoiding being run over by bicycles is altogether another matter. Deciding what is a pavement and what is a cycling path can be tougher still. Martin, Mareike Peter were quick to obtain their own two-wheeled wonders. Michael procrastinated a while, but sort of like with DocMartens in Glasgow, you can?t go around for long without one. The simple act of obtaining a bicycle (by whatever means best suits your conscience and pocket) is of great significance as it finally allows one to enter into the fold of Dutch society. It allows you to proclaim yourself a complete being. You need no longer stand out!
Mid-way through the term, a good friend of Michael's showed up on short notice from Italy, with his cousin and a couple of friends in tow. Fortunately they all had sleeping bags! The night they arrived night there was a party in the house (as is the case almost every week) which was followed by a quick tour of some of the centre?s night spots - all of which stay open all night, as far as any of us was able to ascertain.
Saturday they were up and away by 10am to spend the day in Amsterdam. It was the first time in Holland for all of them, so they required showing round all the usual tourist pulls: red-light district, Anne Frank?s house (from outside at least), the Dam, main shopping streets, pushers, pimps and the odd 18th century-merchant- mansion-lined canal.
One particularly witty drug purveyor of Caribbean extraction approached us claiming he had it all: "coke, acid, ecstasy, hash, heroin, marijuana, crack" ... you name it. So they did, and requested a "Fanta". The kind man was a bit astounded by this peculiar demand. How unhealthy too, he must have thought, seeing as he pointed out in his best patois: "Fanta no goood" (man).
The closest they came to entering anything at all like a museum was when they stumbled on a shop entirely dedicated to the sale of contraceptives. More specifically the "humble" condom - in all its permutations: from the classic lamb?s gut to the latest in edible, flavoured and multi-coloured ... not to mention the various "novelty" models and shapes designed to "reach those parts others just don't reach" .. or was that the beer?!
The whole shop was laid out rather like a museum, with all the different models carefully displayed and labelled in glass cabinets. There were also a vast array of free educational leaflets (in a variety of languages) provided by the Dutch AIDS awareness people. This shop was a veritable magnet to all passers by, who invariably stepped inside to have a good look around. In fact it?s fair to say that it was being far more successful at attracting people in off the street than all of the other shows and shops in the neighbouring red light district.
Saturday night we were back in Groningen. Upon their return from Amsterdam they had seen the first hints that Michael's new room-mate had finally arrived (some of the generous scatter of sleeping bags had been moved, and the room was piled high with books, computer and stereo ... but no sign of the owner). It was in fact not until they got back from a most amazingly enjoyable night on the town, about 5am, that the person himself revealed his form upon them from under a duvet ... it would not be until the following afternoon that he finally stirred from his bed so that we could actually make his acquaintance.
Any complaints or objections you might have regarding its content should not be aired, because frankly, if you object to it you shouldn't have read it!