Around this time last year, I was admittedly jealous of the frosh. Facing up to reality – especially realizing how the experience of orientation and those first sweet weeks at Wesleyan can never be repeated – dealt a harsh blow. Every campus amenity necessitated by Wesleyan’s brand of liberality – the subsidized birth control, the frank sexuality, the Ride – seemed, well, normal. Normality is, of course, a good thing, but I longed for the novelty of shock.
Same time, this year: I think I may have found my fix. Having survived through my first weeks at the Universiteit van Amsterdam, I can testify that the college standard for “normal” on this side of the ocean is a bit shocking, even for a student of Wesleyan sensibilities. And you thought gender-neutral bathrooms were out there…
Here at UvA, the words “orientation event” are inextricably linked with that phrase “free beer” – excluding the optional drugs and alcohol seminar conducted in a park 4 or 5 kilometers away from campus. My first day as an UvA student was split between a university-sponsored borrel (Dutch drinking party) at club Odeon and a second UvA borrel on Thorbeckeplein ( an event reproduced by the school every Tuesday night in honor of its international students). The second day of orientation concluded in a “beer cantus” held in a Mocon-esque cafeteria (which followed dinner and drinks aboard a canal cruise). As suggested by the name, this “beer cantus” consisted of beer and karaoke – and hundreds of students screaming toasts of “Biertje” while dancing on the tables, egged on by the MC and our orientation leaders. For its final act of hospitable welcome, UvA hosted an all-night (23.00-5.00), no-holds-barred dance party. And that was only the first week.
You might be thinking, “But surely there are more shocking things about study-abroad in Amsterdam than school-sponsored alcohol?” Yes, yes–there are. For example, being locked out of a Wesleyan single post-shower on a January morning is quite traumatizing. Multiply that trauma by 900, and you’ll understand approximately how it feels to watch your keys (bike lock, building, floor, room and mailbox) sink to the bottom of a canal.
Dutch socialism also comes as a pleasant shock for those of us so used to the ruthlessness of capitalism. For all of Wesleyan’s imitation-Dutch tolerance, the school still costs forty-five grand per year, while UvA is free to all accepted Dutch students. EU students studying abroad within the EU are paid to do so; additionally (and to my embitterment), they may attend a language institute of their chosen country in the summer before their semester abroad, all expenses paid! How’s that for progressive?
Then there’s the way Dutch film could be described as a little to the left of Wesleyan’s film series. Here is a brief synopsis of the movie screened by UvA as an orientation event, “Simon:” Simon, a sexually deviant “coffee-shop” owner, former stuntman in Vietnam War films, and ex-husband to a former female Thai kickboxer, learns that inoperable tumors are growing in his brain. Simon then reconnects with a former friend who ended his marriage by sleeping with the kickboxing wife, and has since re-discovered his homosexuality and become engaged to his male life-partner. Rather than suffer a slow and miserable death, Simon opts for euthanasia and enlists his friend to help him work out the details. Warning: this film contains consumption of (legal) drugs, plenty of gratuitous nudity and the execution of policies not approved by the United States government.
When I asked a Dutch student if such propaganda appeared in many Dutch films, she responded that all Dutch filmmakers are very liberal, and so why wouldn’t their films contain liberal commentary? As if all films ought to have a core message besides “love is nice” or “life is hard.”
The best bombshell actually came in my first moments as an UvA student, soon after moving into my humongous, canal-view room. I was taking the time to scan my new lease agreement, which initially conjured the same emotions as your first Wesleyan housing contract, until one sentence – in light of last year’s fire-safety inspections – blew my mind into spasms of delight: “You are allowed to smoke in your own room.”
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