1. For the longest the idea of this trip was a fantasy, but one that I couldn’t accurately imagine. The
U.S. is all I’ve ever known and the thought of the Netherlands didn’t seem real, yet. As I and
twenty other students traveled through the air I remained in disbelief for finally being freed from
the United States. I was not alone in being a novice with international traveling. For some, the
first sight of snow in Newark was a mini adventure. It was a perfect view, close enough to see,
but far away to not notice its imperfections. Several hours later, on the other side of the world,
we watched the sun awaken over the skyline in the Netherlands.
Immediately off the plane many students were close to losing the battle to their bladders. They
searched desperately for a bathroom, or restroom sign, but only came across a “Toilet” sign. The
clear, most obvious solution to the problem, but oddly blunt. Meanwhile, my eyes wanted to
remain as closed curtains since we time traveled five hours ahead.
While at the airport we met up with Bjoern, the teacher of the Dutch students that many of us
have been Skyping with. He was our guide, but towards the end of the trip became a reliable
friend that we always looked forward to seeing. Bjoern led us to the train where I and the other
Valencia gals saw this European eye candy that looked as if he just walked out a GQ Magazine.
He was tall, well groomed, and an overall rare thing to see to American eyes, no offense to
American guys. We were eager to hop on that train traveling further into the European cultural
perks.
As we rode the train to Den Bosch, it was our first glimpse into the beauty of the Netherlands. A
place where architecture has no limitations. My inner child emerged to observe this new world
with enthusiasm and curiosity. The hermit of me, tired and fatigued, now looked out the window
with fascination followed by ooo’s and ahh’s. The buildings and houses were created in unique
ways I had never seen. The houses had a vintage feel but were lively and modern inside. The
windows were like the eyes to our bodies, but instead the souls to the homes.
While the Dutch were sleeping in that Sunday morning, the Americans were at play. We were
kids on an adventure, excited in exploring every crevice of Den Bosch. We did this with the aim
of trying to help our minds play catch up. I and many others were still in disbelief in being in
another country. I can’t explain why I was expecting some grand gesture or revelation for

2. crossing the threshold of our normal. As visitors in this world we were in awe at the canals, the
charming, vintage theme of the buildings with the roads even abiding the brick rule. During our
search and leisure we entered a sightseeing maze of shops, stores, and restaurants, many in
which were closed. We even witnessed a Dutch child’s birthday party. With unfamiliar amounts
of walking we worked up an appetite.
I was eager to rid myself of the haunting taste of airplane food. We ate a meal most American
kids could eat everyday: a grilled cheese sandwich. The cheese was rich in flavor slipping through
two soft pillows of bread. That sandwich was good enough to make even the most sophisticated
of adults question their favorite meal.
We devoured our meal and worked off every calorie. The walk to our five day residence
Zonnewende was about 3 miles. I had to put my pitiful American legs to use; for there were no
pedals to push but only retired muscles. We walked with all our luggage, so it felt like we were
carrying someone on our backs while dragging a suitcase filled with rocks. The walk began with
optimism for we were distracted by the scenery, but when we reached the woods I turned
around to see the distance we had traveled and looked forward to what was to come. This
realization, resulted in us becoming American divas.
After the unanticipated 5k, some students and I were crazy enough to go on a bike ride. We rode
the bikes for a good two hours touring the more residential and country side of Den Bosch. This
was an intimate way to explore. I loved feeling the breeze and the freedom of the bike that
treaded where cars couldn’t. I was close to the livestock (horses and sheep) while trying to
dodge their manure droppings. This accompanied with a stench worse than a zoo that was
impossible to be nose blind to. And with each pedal rotation the hatred of my legs towards me
grew. Meanwhile the Dutch passers bye rode up hills as if their legs were made of car engines,
leaving us in the dust, as I chant in my mind, “I think I can, I think can.” I woke up with my legs
replying, “I think not.”
I gave my legs the day off and rode the bus to the Koning Willem I College. We had the pleasure
of meeting the president of the college, Jeanette Noordijk. She too is a supporter of forming
interpersonal relationships between the Dutch and American students. She believes that, “you

3. learn more of persons than things.” Thanks to the collaboration with the college, Valencia was
awarded the “Innovation of Excellence.”Koning Willem has been the best community college in
the Netherlands for over 25 years. For them, education isn’t limited to logistics and analytics but
also the encouragement of creativity. “We work great together,” stated Professor Suzette
Dohany. We’re anticipating Jennet’s arrival to Valencia in the fall and the exchange of 12 Dutch
students in 2016.
After an informative meeting we toured the school. We learned about their innovative ways of
promoting student success, also their historical role in WWII. Throughout the tour we were
followed by some media students with their cameras and microphones. Us Americans couldn’t
help but feel that celebrity status.
Then we took a glimpsed at the design and technology classes. Some of the students had the
pleasure of meeting their Skype partners. The Dutch students were working on various projects,
one being the creation of a theme park. As we temporary distracted them, we learned that in
the Netherlands, “the bikes are always right.” Also, the Dutch students are taught English in
elementary school. They were shocked that American schools didn’t do the same. One Dutch
student wanted to come to America for two main reasons: visit the set of the Home Alone
movie, and go to Baltimore because of her favorite band, All Time Low, she stated that “bands
are my life.” Some Valencia students became more technologically savvy in pairing with the
Dutch students. While others had to create a PowerPoint on American stereotypes.
That Tuesday and the remaining days at Koning Willem, Valencia students worked with the
Dutch theater department as a fun way to develop relationships between the students. It was
insightful to compare cultures by dismissing or confirming some beliefs.
For instance, we discussed the topic of dating. Valencia student, Nancy Rupp, found the Dutch
to be, “very frugal people, careful with money.” A Dutch guy replied, “I try not to eat out on the
first four dates.” Valencia students confessed that women offer to pay out of guilt, not with the
intent of actually following through. Does chivalry still exist? “Customs change when cars
change…” stated, Professor Jean Marie Fuhrman. She elaborated in saying that since cars have
remote unlocking, guys are less likely to open the door. A Dutch student answered in saying,

4. “being a gentlemen in the Netherlands is very important.” I’m not sure if such virtue is expressed
and observed in American guys. In Dutch culture the guys treat the women as equals, so they
alternate on who pays the tab. American women typically start paying for dates when a
relationship is established.
Both cultures handle social issues differently as well. The students performed a mini skit on
American and Dutch reactions toward teen pregnancy. When Valencia student, Lia Silveira
walked into the room of “Americans.” They reacted with a superficial warm embrace of
excitement and support, but when she left, the gossip came running in. Students reenacted the
same scenario, but this time Lia’s friends were “Dutch.” Her first step entering the room, a guy
shouts, “you fat cow!” They swarmed her like sharks to bait attacking her with vulgar words of
criticism. Both American and Dutch students laughed without denying these accurate reactions.
Americans values the feel good factor, and since grade school we are taught, “if you don’t have
anything good to say, don’t say nothing at all.” The Dutch do not modify their reactions, but are
terrifyingly honest. “I’m not insulting you, it feels like you are insulted,” a classic Dutch remark
from instructor Henk Langenhuijsen. The Dutch have a dry sense of humor often laughing in the
face of others pain. Yet, when Valencia student Aiden Moulton randomly blurts out, “I walked
into a shoe shop looked under a shoe that said ‘preserve your soul,’” even the Dutch couldn’t
resist in cracking a grin.
Laughter was the theme throughout the week especially as Valencia students reenacted the
different soap styles with use of American shows like: Sex and the City, That’s 70s Show, Punk’d,
and Wheel of Fortune. The Dutch students had to guess the show. Before observing the theater
classes I had no idea there were so many improvisation games. It was hilarious watching the
students think on their feet, all while bonding with their Dutch friends. This encouraged many to
step out of their comfort zones.
In the midst of their game I stepped aside to meet my Skype partner Pelumi. Although we’ve
been chatting since October, I was nervous and excited as I walked up to her. Not really knowing
what to expect, but thinking of a million scenarios. With my childlike enthusiasm for meeting a
new friend, I wanted to greet her with a hug, but she instead prepared her hand for shaking. In

5. effort not to weird her out, I complied, and followed the expected social rule. We went on to
discuss the Dutch food that I tried so far, I told her I already loved the stroopwafels and Dutch
cheese. Yet, I despised their idled black candy, as did she. Pelumi laughed at my Goedemorgen
(good morning) that I spent a week practicing. She said it sounded German. Although our initial
meeting was cut short we talked more that night.
We had a cross cultural party at Zonnewende for both the Valencia and Dutch students. But after
a long day at the college the thought of more social interactions overwhelmed me. The feeling
soon subsided and I was eager to chat more with my new Dutch buddy. Other Valencia students
also were developing connections with their Dutch friends. The purpose of the party was to play
a cross cultural game. Everyone was divided into an Alpha or Beta society, each culture had
unique social rules that if broken could get the visitor kicked out. The game taught me the
importance of observations and knowing what another culture values to avoid an unintentional
offense.
After the party a Dutch student named Pepijn van Bakel invited us back to his home. On the way
to his house we stopped by a local video store similar to Blockbuster. I couldn’t help but get
excited with flashbacks of my childhood returning, with the phrase, PLEASE REMEMBER TO
REWIND on the VHS. We also tried more Dutch food patat and kroket. When we arrived to
Pepijn’s home his parents greeted us with open arms and took many pictures throughout the
night. Pelumi and I continued to talk and admitted that we wanted to hug one another earlier,
but feared awkward rejection. The night was filled with laughter and friendships brewing.
We had fun comparing Dutch and American music. After listening to some Dutch songs I was
able to emphasize why they shielded their ears at the tune of the upbeat childlike folklores and
sing-alongs. The atmosphere was gezellig, from the authentic Dutch food to being in the midst of
people so new yet felt familiar. The party was a melting pot that could release the aroma of
stroopwafels and burgers. For the first time in a while I could feel young and peaceful without
the intruding third wheel of life. It took leaving America to meet my age. Gezellig has no true
English translation, but I think of it as a compelling euphoria with the illusion of freezing time,

6. and for a split second nothing outside that environment exist or matter. You can’t help but
commit to the experience. The night was almost perfect except it had to end.
The day that began with distant handshakes and greetings ended in group hugs, many friend
requests, and tons of selfies. The Dutch students even created a WhatsApp group chat called,
“Dutch Loves American Bruh.” To the eyes of an outsider they’d be in disbelief that many of us
met that day. One Dutch student Jalil Somford, expressed that a week in the Netherlands was
way too short- he already saw us as family. I thought that night was the peak of the trip, but the
week only got better from there.
The next morning the clouds came to visit and brought a brutal cold as its plus one. For our last
day at Koning Willem the night ended with a bang, from the explosion of our taste buds, thanks
to the culinary students. As if we didn’t feel like celebrities before our egos boosted to a royal
level. We were served a homemade five course meal with food artistically delicious. For me, the
scallops and the dessert (bread pudding with vanilla ice cream) stole the show, leaving me
begging for an encore. Just when I thought I tried the best of Dutch dessert I was pleasantly
surprised in Delft. I had the Dutch version of a Belgium waffle topped with a mountain of whip
cream and mini sugar cubes sprinkled on top, just in case it wasn’t sweet enough.
Before we could stuff our faces and shop for souvenirs we went to the Vermeer museum. It was
a bit of a hassle walking there especially since we took our roles as tourists very seriously. The
buildings, ringing of the church bells, shops, with a local flee market made it seem like we were
in another era. Even the construction of new buildings were made to fit in. There were bikes
everywhere, I even witnessed one fall into a canal, which apparently happens often. At the
Vermeer Museum the paintings were mesmerizing each telling a unique story. He is famous for
his use of light, but I like that he didn’t paint predictable beauty, yet elegant, peculiar faces. Even
the pictures within his painting had their own dialogue.
The next day we explored a somber aspect of European history, a Nazi concentration camp.
When the Jews arrived to the camp they were given a number and a color as their identification.
Three months after their capture many became ill, especially since they were only permitted to
wash once a month and given scraps for food. In addition to their new identities, all the

7. possessions of their old lives were stolen. One man was only left with a picture of his wife, a
pencil, a button with needle and thread for his pants. The punishment for insubordination was
14 people in a cramped room for almost 24 hours, suffering claustrophobia, mental illnesses, or
death. Tears ran down the faces of many students during the tour, but when we loaded back in
the van to head to Den Bosch they quickly recovered. My mind remained at the camp. I was
shocked at how much the tour affected me. I’ve learned about the Holocaust plenty of times in
school and read vivid details in books, but all at a distance. I felt the rough beds they slept on and
the thin uniforms that served as their only shield against the cold. The environment made me
picture myself as them. It was too sad for tears, but only appropriate for silence to feel the
moment without expression, as a prisoner like them, but within.
Although the morning began in grief the day ended on a positive note. We threw a party for our
final night at Zonnedewende and all of our Dutchies attended. We played outside on the zip line,
playground, and I showed Pelumi the huge random tipis, followed by a mini history lesson on
Indians and their relationship with the United States. Valencia students bought American snacks
for our Dutchies to try. They were very fond of our abundant M&M’s flavors. They gave us a gift
in return, we each received a pack of stroopwafels with a group picture attached to it. The
exchanging of food can make people the best of friends. However, the Dutchies had one more
trick up their sleeve.
During an hour long walk to this unknown destination, Pelumi and I both admitted to feeling
exhausted from all the social stimulation of the week. She confessed that hearing us Americans
talk was like watching live TV. Then we somehow got on the subject of The Voice, having no idea
it originated from the Dutch. She bragged saying, “everything isn’t invented by Americans.”
We arrived at this place called Shooters where chairs were invisible, so our legs could only be
useful for embarrassing dance moves. They played a combination of Dutch and American music.
We spent our last night in Den Bosch dancing the night away (well until our curfew) with our
Dutchies.
In the morning we went to the Netherlands most well-known city, Amsterdam. I have Googled
this city endless times, made it my wallpaper, and cover photo. Yet, it surpassed my

8. expectations, but lived up to its reputation. It was like walking in a painting, the buildings were
historical with Crayola colors of greens, yellows, greys, and browns that reflected off the many
canals. The Dutch students kept laughing at me as every other step was another picture, with the
goal to relive that moment even while in the states. The longer we walked the more I anticipated
being in the middle of Time Square, or seeing the Empire State Building peaking in the distance.
But Amsterdam was New York City on steroids, not only were there cars to be cautious of, but
worse, bikes.
We toured part of the city losing count of the many coffee shops that exposed strong aroma
samples. As we continued to walk we entered the infamous Red Light District. I was certainly
naïve when entering this territory, I wanted to burrow blinders from a horse. It was hard to look
at the women; they were like seductive dolls waiting on the shelf to be bought.
After the tour we said our final farewells to our Dutchies. The sky and the student’s eyes
sprinkled with their long goodbyes. This was followed by hugs, tons of selfies, and group
pictures. Even with the future acknowledgement of this day, there still wasn’t enough
preparation. I hate goodbyes, and the feeling of missing another. Saying goodbye to Pelumi was
difficult, especially since she felt like my little sister, we even share the same birthday. I don’t
think any of us were expecting that strong of a connection after a short week. It became evident
in that instant.
The day continued, but we had to carry our hearts away towards the Anne Frank museum. The
house was so narrow that I had to wear my backpack forward. I felt pregnant, and even
possessed all the aches and pain as we climbed the steep steps. The museum had entries from
her diary, interviews of her father Otto and Miep, the woman who assisted in their hiding. My
favorite part was Anne and Fritz Pfeffer’s room. I like seeing all the pictures on the wall from
magazines and newspapers. The majority of the pictures, if not all, were women smiling. As if the
pictures were a reflection of the many smiles of her old life.
The canal tour was my favorite aspect of the day. I could patiently observe the homes in and off
the water, while the boat swayed to the rhythm of the canals. We were like babies being rocked
to sleep. I was always the child to stay up, never wanting to miss a thing and for good reason, we

9. were in Amsterdam. I refused to miss a moment, and instead made an effort to appreciate the
expiring beauty. While on the boat tour it felt like a long goodbye to the country I’ve come to
love. There was peace, sadness and acceptance in the realization of my departure. I missed the
Netherlands even while there. I wanted that moment to be longer than just a moment, and with
each passing minute I was clinging to my time there.
I returned home with diminished patriotism and lack of enthusiasm. My first night back I dreamt
I moved to the Netherlands, but awoken disappointed that it wasn’t a reality. I didn’t want to be
back I desperately missed the best week of my life. I miss riding by the sleepy flowers that hid in
its pedals from the sun but came out when the day was almost done. Or the birds that would
awake me with their opera like lungs. But most of all, our Dutchies. I was home but my mind
vacationed with my heart thousands of miles away. The U.S. is no longer enough, this
restlessness is an unfamiliar distraction.
I didn’t understand the significance of traveling until I was in the Netherlands. I learned things
about myself that surprised me. Like, the U.S. never really freed me but influenced my
personality and international expectations. Throughout the entire journey my mind reduced the
unknown by searching for commonalities in the Netherlands. Also being aware of the things
absent in America. I became observant in my surroundings freed from the hypnosis of my phone.
At this age of exploration I crave knowledge in regards to myself and various cultures. Traveling
is officially my new hobby. It forces you out of your comfort zone to test your reactions and
limitations while questioning who you are from home. You feel alive when you experience life
changing moments. Your only regret will be not listening to me sooner.