de boom die alles zag/the tree that saw everything

Happy VDAY! Until The Violence Stops

2007-02-15T07:35:00.000+01:00

Hello good friends and family, near and far :*)

I felt like it was high time I was a little more proactive about updating you all about what is going on in my life-- to give you a little glimpse-- Well, I am, somehow, in the midst of my very last semester at William Jewell College and in the working intensely on very exciting and stimulating senior project- I like to call it my "senior capstone catharsis" :*). I am directing The Vagina Monologues this year at Jewell and set up an entire month of special events, art and awareness for our entire college- focusing of sexual health and social justince concerning sexual and domestic violence and abuse, which we are in the very midst of as I speak! Check out this article our school newspapwer- they did a GREAT article about the show http://www.thehilltopmonitor.com/volume21/issue15/issue15.pdf The Vagina Monologues is part of an international movement to raise awareness about violence against women and girls- it gives a voice to overlooked experiences of women regarding sexuality, self-identity, abuse, justice and resilience. All the funds from the show go to a local organization and all our t-shirt sales are going to a Jewell student and her daughter who, as survivors of domestic violence, are in need of funds for court fees. There are over 20 women (and a few men!) I am directing and overseeing with the monologues and production teams- women that span our campus- women with different backgrounds and strong leadership- it is a great experience. We have been working closely with administration and our Student Senate to address the student need for sexual health education intiatives and contraceptive availability on our campus, have pulled together a moving art exhibit revealing different visions, memories, healing pains, abuses and reflections of of reality at a very personal level, we are creating a venue for women of Jewell to reveal the abuses and difficult experiences they have had through an event focused on awareness and action, we are rallying men from across campus- fraternities, sports teams, independents---to the connect to how they can play a role in this movement. It has been an incredible challenge, but so far rewarding- and proving to be the perfect project to tie my self-designed Women's and Gender Studies major and previous activism into one seamless, creative whole. Check out the international VDAY website- http://www.vday.org/main.html

The Vagina Monologues: WJC Schedule of Events

2007-02-15T07:31:00.000+01:00

The Vagina Monologues is an international movement to stop violence against women and girls. All of the ticket sales go to Synergy Services, a local organization whose mission is on target with ours. This year we are also supporting a Jewell student, Anne Brown-Pollard and her daughter, Emeline, with funds from t-shirt sales. As survivors of domestic violence, this money will go towards court fees. Tickets ($5) and T-shirts ($10) will be sold from 10:30 to 2pm in the Yates-Gill Student Union during the weeks before the show.

February 6th, 6:00 pm, Yates 222 – “Do It Right” – Mindy Heutinck, professor of nursing, will be presenting sexual health; focus on contraceptives and sexually transmitted infections.
February 12-16- “The Faces of…change, love, pain, courage, freedom, hope”—Art Show, Curry Library
February 14th – V-DAY – We will be sending out Valentine’s Day cards/invitations to all students to attend the Vagina Monologues
February 19-23 – “Airing Out Our Dirty Laundry” – Throughout this week, we will be hanging old t-shirts with statistics on women’s human rights injustices locally, nationally, internationally in the Union.
February 20th, 6pm- Gano Chapel – “Until the Violence Stops – WJC Speaks” – An evening of awareness and action. Anne Brown-Pollard, survivor of domestic violence, speaks personally of her experiences and Synergy, the beneficiary of the show, will speak about prevention and awareness. WJC women will be telling their own stories, anonymously or in person, of rape, abuse, violence or injustice. This is our chance to air our own dirty laundry in order to stimulate change on our own campus.

- March 3rd , 7:30pm, The Vagina Monologues Performance
- March 4th , 2pm, The Vagina Monologues Performance
-----------------------------------------------------

TICKET INFO:
All tickets are $5. To reserve your ticket, send your check
(payable to William Jewell College) to:

The Vagina Monologues
c/o Betsy Bramon
500 College Hill Box 2082
Liberty, MO 64068

*Be sure to indicate which performance you plan on attending
**You ticket will be held at the box office until 30 minutes prior to the performance.

If I could sum it all up... adding together Amnesty, Jewell, Amsterdam

2007-02-15T06:04:00.000+01:00

This past fall I was nominated to apply for USA Today's All-Academic Team. Though I did not win the award, the application process was incredibly valuable. It challenged me and enabled me to focus and reflect on the experiences that have shaped me the most throughout my college career. Last semester was a very difficult challenge for me both academically and personally. Through this application process, I humbly stumbled upon a number of personal realizations that helped me pull everything together.

I wanted to share my essay with you all because I feel proud of what it says and how it concisely portrays my passion, my experiences, and my vision. So this is my gift to you!

As my mind weaves through all I have committed myself to in the past four years, I am struck by a definite and unmistakable thread that links them all together. Each stems from a common passion and strength I have discovered within myself that pulls human rights and women’s human rights into the forefront.

Through human rights advocacy, I have been able to pour my passion into an academically rigorous self-designed major combining research and hands-on service opportunities with self-discovery. This has contributed to a highly interdisciplinary and personalized college experience rooted in raw reality. Through a combination of internships, one with the Amnesty International USA headquarters’ in New York City and the other with The Salvation Army’s International Task Force on Sexual Trafficking in Amsterdam, The Netherlands, I was able to experience how the dance of theory and reality supply an arresting case to take a stand for change.

Stepping into the headquarters of Amnesty International USA pushed me in directions that contrasted and complimented the activism I had done at the grass roots level. As one of only two select undergraduate interns, I joined the professional research team that forms the backbone of Amnesty. Together we composed in-depth reports that influence legislation and reform surrounding domestic violence against Native American women, public housing for domestic violence victims, police brutality against lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender persons, detainee abuse issues regarding Private Military Contractors in Iraq, as well as sexual abuse in prisons. I also volunteered weekly with the homeless in New York City, learning of their personalized struggles with many elements of American society our research was working to clarify. Through this combination of work, I cultivated the aptitude and experience necessary to pursue other urgent international human rights issues. It was when I studied abroad in Amsterdam, The Netherlands that I coupled this new-found power with my passion for women’s human rights at an international scale.

Sex trafficking is a brutal and secretive form of modern slavery that embodies some of the most atrocious human rights violations against women. Though it invisibly infiltrates into every major city in the world, most ordinary people are unfamiliar with it. Through The Salvation Army’s International Task Force on Sexual Trafficking, I had the privilege of individually designing and orchestrating a research project exposing this underground network in Europe. It will be used to form crucial international policy which targets organized crime networks and government corruption while urging measurable enforcement of internationally recognized human rights standards. Because sex trafficking is often masked behind the perceived choice to work in prostitution, I interacted weekly with legal and illegal prostitutes in Amsterdam, building relationships with them and learning about their personal journeys through the industry.

These experiences build upon each other, one forming foundations of learning and questions for another. They cannot be separated. They are part of a vision with a present and a future that beg others to do what they can to create and sustain change. We must understand each other’s stories in order to decode injustice and prevent humanity from being stripped from the most vulnerable of people. With my experiences in human rights advocacy through research and field work, I can hope that I am motivating others to take a stand while forming new resources that will keep some of these stories from resurfacing with different names and faces.

chang chang chaaaang

2006-07-18T03:00:00.000+02:00

The chang business is an allusion to some classy Supremes song I just kind of conjured up out of nowhere, Just reminded me of Halloween this past year in Amsterdam when Megan, my best-good-friend of first semester dressed up like a pregnant Britney Spears ("I've got the golden ticket, mmm hmmm) and I fro-ed out my hair and tried to get my sass on as a skinny white- girl Diana Ross. Needless to say, no one knew who I was but me and my compatriots, (ok, well maybe just me) but hey, it was worth it :*).
Anyways, fast-forwarding nine months, Britney birthed her chilluns' and I am still perched upon this below sea level land, making a life for myself here and enjoying it most days fairly well. Tonight I went to my second African dance class where I inadvertently ran into one of my favorite professors. On our first day of class last semester she did handstands with me in hallway :*). Her name is Letje, she is this vibrantly present woman, I want to be like her when I grown up... but anyways, that was so nice and unexpected. The dancing was just so liberating, like being a child, just flinging your body around and inhabiting the beat of the drums, it was so invigorating, and hard work- I really don't think I have ever sweat so much in my life, haha, it looked and felt like I had just taken a dip in a canal or something.... by the way, I do have a confession... a few weeks ago when it was oh so hot out, after I had been splaying out in the shiny sun at the Amsterdamse Plage (which, actually, is really just a pile of sand by the side of the Ij channel where a lot of carnies serve bad music and fruit shakes out on colorful bean bags with naked babies and the slowest ferris where you have ever seen) I was on my bike on my way back home, when I just couldn't stand it anymore. I swear I had no jurisdiction over my limbs, I suddenly pulled off by this sleepy, very residential canal, whipped off my shoes and jumped in...

...And, I must say, it was quite liberating. :*) Perhaps this is my summer of liberation, ha. But not to worry, it's been a few weeks and I have yet to develop any strange rashes or loss of tonails, God forbid. I think I was subconsciously inspired by my friend Olga (my Russian sister, bet you didn't know I had one of those) who, on her last night plunged into the canal outside her dorm in the centrum from a bridge for her very own satisfaction alone. There were no witnesses, but I can testify to the orange Queen's Day tunic that was quite wet on her floor the next morning. I said goodbye to Olga in the end of June, amidst many a Russian and Eastern European in her master's graduation class at the University of Amsterdam. I met Olga through our Colombian cassanova counterpart, Raul, one night when we met up at a squat to listen to a noisy Jewish wannabe Rabbi try to reclaim klezmer drinking tunes on his shiny accordian to this lost generation (read: me, you, your cat). It was a good beginning, and difficult to say goodbye yet again, but well, I'm used to it now, and know that I have a gezellig spot somewhere in Siberia waiting for me when the winds blow me in that direction.

I have been taken into this family of two brave parents and three creative and quite distinct children- Sandra the sassy, the strong willed, the generous giver of bruise-worthy hugs who is 4 years old, Joshua, the sold-out football player (soccer to all you Americans out there) who lately keeps asking me very serious questions about Michael Jackson, he is 7 years old, and Frank Omar, the dependable night-owl, reciditive louse offender, music maker, National Geographic junkie and apple pie addict of 9 years.

The other day I woke up a little frazzled (I think my dream involved a peter pan theater production, dark water, new roommates, something shiny and a mysterious brother) and took the kids to school (this mean mounting Sandra on the back saddle of my bike and peddling to school with the boys beside). As we arrived at school with all the classy Dutch parents with beautiful blonde babies in hand, I had this slight revelation that just made me laugh out loud. I was that mom, that mom that is a bit dishelved, out of sorts. You know, the one you always see in faded sweatpants with a mangled ponytail crumpled on top her head, with some dried cereal mysteriously stuck to her shoulder. Everybody knows one. Ha, yeah, it was me (minus that mom part, no I did not birth any children while in Amsterdam, I was just standing in for one). But in short, I am really blessed by them, and by this chance to get that rare insider/outsider vantage point on what this family stuff means.
So I am leaving soonish...I don't really think I actually thought it would happen (maybe I still don't?) Why is it that when the end starts creeping up you begin to meet the most interesting people? This past month I have had the humble pleasure of dialogue and music and strumming and tea and listening and qirca making and questioning and midnight talking with some really wonderful people. But when I'm not trying making friends, I am trying to make the most of these little Nederland momentjes and get my work done too (what??! work??!!) I must say that researching can sometimes be quite lonely. For those of you out of the loop, this illusive research business is all about sex trafficking in Eastern and Western Europe, just to clue you in. But sometimes I have to remind myself when it's all too too too much to take a walk like Soumya and me had to sometimes last summer in NYC at Amnesty, or sing real loud on my bike like all the confident, crinkly homeless men that stand outside the Salvation Army office by the canal on Oudezijdsvoorburgwal (say that threes times real fast) in the red light cajoling and bantering with street prostitutes with their hip packs while not so sneakily trying to "offer" hard candy to passersby. I think I really will miss them though...funny as that sounds. But I am balancing it out with the field work stuffs (which sometimes also means Alice and I being momentarily mistaken for a prostitutes...hmmm) but I love this part because it is so real- and I love getting to know the women in little ways who are women just like me, just like your sister, your mom, even your grandma. Imagine that.

Every once in a while I feel a little bit apprehensive about going back home, honestly, because I know I have changed and grown from NYC to Amsterdam and back, and I'm not sure how that will contrast with the things and the people and the ideas and the betsyness back in Missouri, but we shall see. I am not sure that I even know how much I’ve grown myself, and probably won’t till I find myself back in those familiar spaces. A year anywhere is meant to grow a person though, I believe, I've just been so separated and independent from all those things I know that sometimes I wonder if I will feel crowded by them when I return. I am not worried, just curious and thinking. Discounting the two week stint of home between NYC and Amsterdam, it has been almost 15 months since I’ve really been back….

I am always learning about faith and life it's been quite an interesting challenge in this past year for me out in the world and testing myself and my boundaries. I decided, after a last-straw conversation with a wise old Dutch sage name Anton who I met at the Quaker Meeting I frequent, that I need a few more chances…so last minute I decided to run away to the Dutch L’Abri... http://www.labri.org/ it's a little hard to explain, but there are several of them around the world, the first was started 50 years ago in Switzerland, but from what I gather they are a kind of community to live and work and concentrate/question/think/prod questions about faith and life and such, something I need for myself right now. So that's where I am off to tomorrow….and looking forward to it.

Well, proost! I’m off to attempt some strums on my guitar

-betsy, beasty, betz, betsy boo, Hikaru, tree-frog,
mesmerilda, pookje, boumya, boo boo, princess no-butt ,
heathen shepherd, betsiline,manatee #9 (I think….)

make it so....so it seems

2006-05-31T00:41:00.000+02:00

I just spent the last hour recklessly crafting with my flatmate (yes the one who dubbed my twin Delilah) painting cardboard, finding inspirational life commentary from dinosaur comics, burning stroopwaffles (on accident) and hot colored bend-ie at the neck plastic straws (on purpose), cutting up old sweatpants and stringing them to brown-paper-package paper. Strenuous evening.... a lot goes down when trying to avoid a looming 15 page-11 point font-1.5 spaced-crazy-Dutch-style research paper. I am pretty sure that when I last posted it contained a vacuous pledge to be more prompt on the updates. That was a lie. I won't make those promises anymore, but I will say I'll try a little harder to avoid such truant posting habits. It's bad form. Don't want to keep you hanging for too long (assuming someone reads this....heh).

Today I sent my best good shamsterdam accomplice, M.J., away on a plane to Ireland that is eventually bound for the States...I think it put me in a restless funk that really just wouldn't allow me to accomplish any constructive goals. After trying to read an article I didn't finish I ran up the steps of the NEMO (here's a nice pic
http://www.e-nemo.nl/index.php?id=5&s=85&d=551&l=585) to plays some Chinese freeze tag, catch a birds-eye view of a green leafy Amsterdam and pretend I was still a child. Perhaps I am.

I left M.J. at the airport stressed and sweating trying to shave 6 kilos off the weight limit by donning 25 layers of clothing. It's become a kind of trade mark ingenuity stunt for him on budget flights with limited storage :*). It was quite comical dispite the imminent threat of a legitimate break-down looming on the atmosphere. One bag of discarded shirts, underwear and a book about irish fishing tales later I gave him one last hug as he headed for security. Last night we made sushi, danced around my kitchen in Tina Turner fashion while belting out Godspell tunes, packed up some and watch some Narnia, among other things...it was so good. One thing for sure is that by the time I go I will be so ready to be the leaving instead of the left. It's like some kind of osmosis, this gotta-get-gone packing and cleaning, this selling of trusty bikes and turning in of keys- its leaving this puddle of reflection at my feet that I can't quite jump over without getting wet. But I think it'll help me transition into the living back in a family mode I haven't been in in a long while (think high school, hmm).

Lately I have been______ ---->fill in the blank with the following: visiting the International Criminal Court in The Haag (coupled with a strange city tour by a racist local, plus a sikh temple), had an impromptu latka feast with Andy and Julia and then got warm fuzzies thinking about 5th grade and Mrs. Poe (I want to be just like her when I grow up) and the crazy latka stories I wrote during free time, had a pannekoeken onbijtje, finished a paper on sex trafficking in Eastern Europe (I highly recommend Victor Malarek's The Natashas), went to a Dutch wedding, attended (but did not particiate in) the drag queen olympics- think 500 meter sashay- continued my field work in the Red Light with Alice, the Dutch Muse, befriended a homeless man named Peiter who strums his guitar outside the Albert Heijn grocery store on the corner, adventured with my Alexandra the sculptress to the Zuiderbad for some institutionalized naaktzwemmen (another one of my personal social experiments, heh), hosted a good friend from WJC, Monsieur Wingfield, and his Okie vrienden, caught the end of the Women Restiting Violence National Disarmament Day shindig and met a woman who has done literally everything I want to do and then some (and was thus inspired), saw the Queen at the WWII memorial day service, went to the first Zulu Opera, soaked in the aura of my grandparents whom I love so dearly, escaped to Italy for a bit with a good friend and madam Obert..... and acquired a spunky bright blue acoustic guitar :*) that was in no particular order, by the way.
I get kicked out of my home-for-the-past-9-months-home this Tuesday. Then off to the land of Weiss! (the family who is taking me in for the summer)
alles goede mijn vrienden-- tot struks-- betsy

The Unfolding of Spring

2006-04-08T19:02:00.000+02:00

These past few weeks have been a bit of a whirl, but the dust is finally begining to settle just enough for me to see a bit further lately. I have decided to stay here for the summer- I will be continuing my research for the International Anti-Trafficking Task Force Group for the Salvation Army's International Headquarters. Basically I am finding and compiling information relevant to sex trafficking within Eastern and Western Europe - it is a document that will include data on initiatives (mostly national laws, organizations, policies etc) addressing trafficking in persons with sexual purposes througout Eastern and Western Europe.
Just yesterday, I started my "field work" with street prostitutes and window prostitutes in the center of Amsterdam. I met Alice ("Allisa"), a Dutch woman a few years older than myself who works at a homeless shelter with the Salvation Army near Central Station. She has been doing with work with the women for about a year now. I really am encouraged by her- I think we have a lot in common and I look forward to getting to know her better and learning from her experiences here too. It is a very simple job, basically we just bring around coffee and tea to the prostitutes we meet on our route through the center, in and out of the Red Light District. If they want some, they invite us inside their window, we say hello, be friendly, serve them, answer any questions they have if they have any- and that's about all. We have no script, no other main motive then to just greet them one person to another, to just break down that invisible barrier between those who prostitute and those who do not. One thing I really appreciate about The Salvation Army here in The Netherlands is their very intentional separation of social services and evangelism, which I believe at this level is very important to really being able to connect to people without intimidating them, guilting them, or further isolating them. This is an opportunity to learn more about the actual women, their ordinary lives, work, motives, individual situations. I think this provides a step in understanding the reality of the prostitution problematic at a very personal, interactive level. It serves also to connect the prostitutes to accessible individuals and tangilbe facilities and resources should they desire any kind of support. Most of the women are from Latin America and speak Spanish, so I am looking into trying to learn a bit this summer too.
I'm also working with BLINN (Bonded Labour in The Netherlands) the organization focused on victims of sex trafficking. I have been working already some with their legal support division- editing translated documents and am also on call to escort the women to their embassies when needed and any other things a non-Dutch speaking volunteer can do for them.
My friends Frank and Mary+ their three lively children have generously offered me their spare room and the chance to be immersed in and help out some with their family, which is really incredible of them. It really makes me staying here for the summer viable, and a temporary home and consistent community. I'm really grateful.
So that is the low down on what I am/will be up to in the midst of papers and class and such. Spring is seeping into the seams of Amsterdam- creeping into trees, parks, along canals- and the LIGHT is incredible now, it doesn't get dark until around 8pm! I think that after having the most consistently wintery grey, sloshy, cold winter, my body is rejoicing at the amount of sunlight we've been having lately, mm mmm mmm :*)

That's all for now-- I am off to Italy next week and am so excited-- UvA is lacking in a true "spring break" so I am quite ready to get on out for a spell.

betsy
:*)

Class, volunteer stuffs, internships, carnivaal, biking in the snow :*) I heart Amsterdam

2006-03-02T09:53:00.000+01:00

Last night we stepped out of class to the welcoming flurried, sticky snow saturated wonderland of Amsterdam coated in fabulous white stuff :*). In the period of half an hour, I somehow engaged in three snowball fights and one bike wipe out on Prins Hendrikade underneath a bridge, haha. Only one of the snowball fights was intentional, one was a hit and run by a little Morrocan boy who promptly retreated into a fallafel stand before we could process what hit us, and the other was an ambush by some roving Dutch teens we had never seen. It all took place in the street right outside my apartment building and quickly escalated into an all out war, involving plenty of yelping, skewed aim and the inlisting of a few comrads to settle the score. Snow... who knew it could bridge so many a cultural barrier :*)

I'm taking a communication in conflict class, on on Sexual Theories (just finished reading Michel Foucault's history of sexuality), and a course called "The Local and Global Complexity of Prostitution" which is a great class. We have all this guest speakers from historians to actual sex workers to pedofile's to clients. It's pretty crazy, but really interesting too. I'm also taking another Dutch class (een kopje thee voor u??) and a course called "Communication in Conflict Situations" which is a interesting combination of philosphy and theater. For fun I am applying my handstand shenanigans and my secret desire to break dance in a Capoiera class, which is so invigorating and such hard work....It is this Afro-Brazilian form of self-defense/acrobatic/rythmic dance/Portugese singing/drum pounding ensemble. After my first class I was finally able to bend over without sincere identification with 85 year old body pains 4 days later, haha.
I also got this internship/volunteer research job with the Salvation Army to do research on sex trafficking focused on Western and Eastern European policies, laws, organizations. In April I will get to go around with one of the women who does street work visiting brothels and talking with actual prostitutes, bringing them tea, saying hello, making a humane connection with the women as a kind of affirmation of the organization's interest in them as people and to be available for them if they need anything. I also may get to help with a special retreat they put on for homeless women and prostitutes in April as well.
I might get a chance to volunteer some with the Legal Advocacy Department of this anti-sex trafficking group called Bonded Labour In The Netherlands (http://www.blinn.nl/?c=home&lang=gb) to help victims get to their embassies and sift through legal issues.... that is still pending, but looks like it will work out.
Last weekend me and some friends hopped a train to Maastricht in the very southern tip of The Netherlands to Carnivaal- a crazy creative Mardi-Gras celebration invovling plenty of sparkles, face paint, plummage, flambouyant costumes, and so many families!! oh it was soo much fun... These are a few select pictures from it - M.J. the guy in the sparkly blue wig, Neah the woman in the sparkly blue wig :*) Andrew in the red bandana were just a few of my accomplices.

So anyways, life it going well here, the crowd this semester isn't such an outrageousparty-go-crazy-stay-in-your-american-ghetto
-and-smoke-pot-all-day group, which is refreshing after a little too much of that last semester...hmm. I feel like I am begining to build some meaningful friendships here as well, settling in as I always will be, but more sure of what I need, or at least more aware of the questions to be lived.

The Question of Consequence-- Reflections on 4 months independent research into the world of The Red Light District

2006-03-02T09:11:00.000+01:00

**I actually took these pictures just the other weekend during the "Open Dag" of the Red Light, organized by the Prostitution Information Center (CNN did a little diddy on it while I was checking out one of the ordinarily exculsive venues...). Brothels were opened (this is a picture of the inside of one I visited), along with sex clubs, museums, churches, peep show venues, tea houses, coffee shops...and on and on. It was actually really interesting going inside some of these places, I did see part of a free dry sex show and a strip tease- don't be too horrified- it was fascinating in every strange and reverse fashion to pick apart the hegemonic ideal of "SEX" in its perverse glory; to see first hand what our society deems as the seemingly idyllic the standards, power relations, idolized notion of performed sex- and to see for myself the perpetuation of this addiction our culture breeds on blind sex.
For my Field Experience course, this gender studies major, an often idealistic social justice tauting international student (me) chose her focus to be the broad, ever encompassing, question generating realm of--- what else than prostitution-- I'm fairly certain I will never quite be done with it. Here's an excerpt from my final paper.

In the evolution of my exploration of prostitution, the question of consequence sat brooding in the shadows of my mind. Desiring answers clear and articulate, I wanted to be told forthright that yes, legalized prostitution is good, or no, it is definitely not. But I learned that prostitution cannot be that simple and demands tip-toeing through the layers in order to gain even just a smidge of understanding, something that takes patience and time. I interviewed many organizations and devoted individuals who are rooted in these realities everyday in their work. There was Sina at Bonded Labour in The Netherlands, Celine at the Salvation Army, Mariska at the PIC, Gerda and Edna at the Cleft, Joep the former community police officer of the Wallen for 32 years and other ordinary people. Through each one I set myself and my questions before them, tried to pick through their minds, their experiences, their passions, their frustrations, piecing, piecing together an answer to this question of consequence. And I did get some answers, and I have learned about the situation as it stands today in its faults and promises. But I wanted to glean a decisive stance- and I was disappointed each time. The truth of the matter settles into ambiguity. Post legalization in The Netherlands and prostitution is unchanged at its core. Sifting through bureaucratic odds, regulations, legal papers, hygiene standards, security codes and Human Trafficking Rapporteurs, government promises, dodging heroine addicts sly offers in the streets, loverboy rumors and sex trafficking rings- these may have shifted on the surface or evaporated from the visible eye, but in all remain mostly unchanged. At times I find myself feeling a bit at odds, daunted and frustrated with the question of where and how does one address the problems that circulate around and through prostitution. As Joep, the retired police officer, and I talked and walked through the center, weaving in and out of little allies aglow in red that somehow even I had missed in my three months here, I found myself caught between revelations. He delivered a gift to an old friend, a charming, plump grandma with precisely placed sculpted hair, chatty about her neighbors, her new hip, her children. This woman, so ordinary and alive with energy, in this seemingly universal grandmother comfortable, was indeed the oldest prostitute in the Wallen. As I sat next to her on her couch in her apartment, watching her go on in Dutch and Joep’s patience, it was comforting and strange to remember that this woman was indeed just like any other woman, though her history be a bit unique, though her profession seemingly scandalous. She was someone’s grandma. She loved her life and she was doing what she wanted. Like Joep said, even here in The Netherlands the stigma attached to prostitution is strong and binding, keeping women and men a like from discussing and sharing, reaching out and expressing what they need and want. Whether prostitution finds itself written in the books has no positive consequence if those laws and the social atmosphere don’t afford ears to listen and hear.

Here Come the Pieten! Sinterklaas Revisited- Flashback to a Dutch Christmas

2006-03-02T08:51:00.000+01:00

On November 20th with wild abandon parents,the elderly, children, even happy dogs brave the cold to welcome Sinterklaas (the Dutch Santa Claus) to Amsterdam on a steamboat from Spain. I joined a family down the street for the celebration. We hopped in their boat to greet him via the canals. Here is a little piece of that festivity-
“Down at the Amstel the crowds are packing in tight all along the bridges and the river is jammed with boats of all shapes and sizes- full of families, friends, and of course lots of food- applegebach and banketstaaf, tubs of pepernoten, taai taai, and steaming hot tea and coffee. The air is alive with people and color and warmth even though it is so cold out. It is contagious, everyone is smiling, kids are busting out into the Dutch Sinterklaas songs, parents join in too- everyone knows the words. Soon we hear a loud, thunderous horn, the draw bridges raise and Sinterklaas rides in on a large steamer- with crowds of happy, bouncing, friendly Zwarte Pieten by his side waving to the kids, tossing out pepernoten, full of energy and zest. Everyone is cheering and waving, craning to view Sinterklaas. Strangers pass pepernoten and candies across to other boats and back, making jokes with each other- like one large family gathering. The Zwarte Pieten are all dressed in this colorful medieval jester-like garb with mismatched shoes and floppy hats with colorful plumes dancing in the air- and they are everywhere! At least three large boats full of Zwarte Pieten flank behind Sinterklaas’ boat, some even make up small bands playing tunes like pep bands at basketball games back home. They are on the bridges, in the crowds, even hanging from buildings- always catching the eye of parents and children alike with their silly demeanor and promise of candy.”
That Saturday morning on November 20, 2005, as I made my way to my neighbor’s home just a canal and a few streets over, I was not quit sure exactly what to expect. I had heard the stories and seen some Sinterklaas regalia donning the front window of a costume shop on Rozengracht- a golden staff and red pointy bishops hat, not to mention the luxurious white curls that put the Sinter in Sinterklaas- but had yet to experience the energy and frenzy and national pride and unity this celebration brings to families and children in The Netherlands. What I did not know was that there can be no Sinterklaas without Zwarte Piet, who could easily be mistaken by Americans as a 1920s white man dressed as a black man minstrel character. It was precisely the character of Zwarte Piet that struck me as a bit odd, and even taboo. Could Zwarte Piet contribute to racist undertones within Dutch culture? I immediately wanted to learn more about this age-old tradition that is so very Dutch. I decided to base my research paper for my Social Policies, Social Problems and Social Trends course on this festive figure in order to investigate where Zwarte Piet comes from, what that means today, and get a better understanding of each side of the issue concerning the legitimacy of Zwarte Piet.

'Tis a new one- a brief January Chronicle

2006-02-26T08:54:00.000+01:00

I haven't been very faithful to my blog...as you can see Thanksgiving really was quite a while ago and there has been much in the way of happenings since then. But- I'll just try to start the new year off right and post a little something.
My family, who visited over Christmas and New Years, left Sunday morning. Mmm, I flet so blessed to spend time with them- Mom, Dad, Julie and Joni (Laurie in spirit, by way of the cosy scarf mom bought for her that we actually ended up leaving on a train somewhere in Belgium...ha) We really had a great Christmas- my gift to them was a typical Dutch Christmas dinner, so me and Jones went to the market and got all the tasty ingredients. It was a lot of fun and pretty successful (probably a good thing that they didn't know what exactly it is supposed to be like...) but it did turn out pretty tasty and we had a rollicking evening despite or maybe because of jetlag :*). I'm sure you can imagine it... Then we were to Belgium and then Luxembourg and probably every major (and minor?) WW2 site and museum dad could snag along the way, haha. We were in Lux City for New Years. We read The Horse and his Boy (one of the Chronicles of Narnia), ate Belgian chocolates and located a puny bottle of wine from the "bar" (which was really just a door that with a classy sign that read -bar- in swirly script with a vending machine inside) and then jones and i went for a walk along the ramparts- dodging the fire works and jolly, intoxicated citizens out and about.
So....It has been quite a long time since I've had my own space and room to myself, and though I enjoy the guests, will be glad to have things back to my own in a bit :*).
I am actually going to do some traveling on my own too. I am going to Paris and then to Taize, not sure if you are familiar with it,(www.taize.fr) but it is a monastic community, perhaps a little like l'abri (different, but the closest thing I can think of) but I decided now was a better time than any so I will be there for a few days too. I am really looking forward to it. Then from there I am off to Berlin to see the city and to see Jan and Idi- Jan the artist who (I visited him in Antwerp in November) is having an art show opening then, and Idi, his wife who I became good friends with in NYC at the soup kitchen I volunteered at. They are really a wonderful pair and I am excited to see them. And then back to Amsterdam.... Then I guess I have about a week before classes start and meeting all the new flatemates and such. I am off tomorrow morning (hm, well actually in a few short hours since it always happens that I rarely sleep before I fly away anywhere)

'Tis a new one

2006-01-13T02:46:00.000+01:00

shanksgiving in shamsterdam :*)

2005-12-03T11:42:00.000+01:00

Give it up for an evening of thanks- My makeshift family consisted of my flatmate Megan (the jazz songstress), her big sister Becca (conquoror of Kenya in the Peace Corps), Christopher Dale (he wears a sweater made of plastic), Andrea (the Canadian au pair from down the street), and my other flatemate and saucy roasted garlic extrodinaire, Binh.

We played a Balderdash-esque write down what your are thankful for and guess who said it kind of game with our gratitude.
WHAT I AM THANKFUL FOR:
(of course including my family [sisters! parents! grands!!])
**Blaspheming Zwarte Piets (the strange elf-like counterparts to the Dutch Santa)
**Holy Plastic Sweaters (Chris' fabuous fashion statements)
**Large Dutch rabbits (from the petting zoo in our neighborhood, whom Megan enoys impersonating)
**The Hills Are oh-so-Alive tacky wall murals (Our kitchen has this huge wall-papered view of some mountains I swear you can see the family Von Trapp belting from)
**Pychadellic Cacti (Our other infamous flatmate, playing the stereotypical American, brought home a hallucinogenic cactus for his own personal thanksgiving feast. I really had no idea there were such things...It was cooking on the stove right next to the mashed potatoes.... only in Amsterdam...)

I got to talk briefly with Joni, Julie, Dad, and Grandma Nina today (before the minutes ran out, dang it!). I am constantly aware of how much my family means to me here- how grateful I am for their incredle love and the examples they give me of what it means to truely live and love- especially my grandparents. They called as we were about to sit down to our meal as I was simulatinealouly imporvising some cooking moves with trying to remember what my grandmas had taught me the year before about making gravy... (I made a lot of happy noise :*) )

I relaxed and enjoyed and laughed and ate so much- the slow, lazy grazing and communing- we just sat around all night and played cards, sang loud to Rent and Ray LaMontagne and Eric Clapton. This makeshift family was such a blessing to me. I have been aware of this part of me that is vaugely anxious without real conscious reason about staying in this place for a whole year. But that night, sitting in our kitchen as the weather raged on outside, I just felt a kind of peace about it all- I'm going to be ok in this place, I am now, and for the rest of the year. And when all these friends I've made this semester leave, it is going to be more than ok. I'm going to be patient with myself and with God. To laugh at this rain and let it propell me forward, sing loudly and ridiculously in the dark on my bike. The weather was SO BAD, just so nasty that it made me burst out loud as I was running around on my bike in the drenching ice cold rain/sluge-slush rain mush wanna-be hail. I just loved it... For some reason, it just felt invigrating in such an odd, reverse way.

I got an e-mail from my grandpa in St. Louis, Papa Val that was just exactly what I needed, it meant so much to me. I just love his intelligent ramblings, the piecy stories and musings he throws in. At the end of his letter sprinkled with the quirky ramblings and tidbits of life and humor that are solely his, he tagged this bit onto the end. I read it and just kind of broke for a minute-

'Perhaps in future years the memories of Holland will not fade

away. Memories that will last as long as the land in which you were born.

Grow until the calling day of life comes. Because, there is so

much more to come.

From here on grow with patience.

Love Papa Val"

...and so that was what my heart needed to hear.

So here's to thanksgiving and families and life and learning. I'm fully aware of how ridiculously cheesy this may sound, but, I hope it never stops.

Still braving the land of Nether- Part 2

2005-11-18T22:36:00.000+01:00

Eleven Weeks into this experiment I am finding the weeks slipping by quickly. I have had the opportunity to travel to some really wonderful places. At the end of October I went with three of my musician friends- Megan (my flatmate), Ben and Mark, ventured in a bit of a round about romp through Europe. We started with Dublin, Ireland, then braved the "wrong side" of the road with a car and explored the County Wicklow countryside, then flew to Milan, Italy (my favorite was the huge castle/fort surrounded by the city, which I am certain is secretly run by cats), and then from there made our way to Stockholm, Sweeden. My favorites were definitely the Irish countryside and Stockholm- a vibrant, clean, colorful and COLD city (that alliteration was unintended I swear :*) I also got to do a little experiment with temporary homeslessness- spending a total of 31 hours in a Swedish Airport- yeehaw!

Just this past weekend my program (IES) took us on a field trip of sorts to Belgium. We went to the quaint, nostalgic Brugge and Antwerp, which we got to spend more time in to get to know. I actually got to visit Jan Henderikse, the husband of Idi, the woman I worked with this summer at St. Bart's Soup Kitchen for the Homeless. He is a Dutch artist with quite a large follwing in Europe. I met him at his studio in Antwerp- in the top floor of an stately old warehouse. He was so kind and showed me around his work (www.janhenderikse.com) , had some gunpowder tea, gave me a bag of random art trinkets of his, perused through his IPOD- the afternoon was an overwhelming success :*).

I've been taking a rowing/crew course. Every Monday evening me and my team (four Dutch women) take to the Amstel River. I've really enjoyed this course so far. I am thinking about joining a real team in the spring perhaps- we'll see how it goes. It's hard work and more about listening and balance and coordination than strength really- because once you put those pieces together you have a collective strength that enables you to soar on the water. Two of the women on my team will actually be studying in St. Louis this spring! It's a small world--

School has been a interesting challenge- the pace here is so different from back home. Most of my classes meet for concentrated hours once a week, which has taken some getting used to. I have classes with almost all international students, and of those mostly Americans and Canadians and Austrailians. Kind of interesting composition that I wasn't expecting really (honestly a little disappointing too, sometimes there's a bit of a bubble here with the international students, I try to avoid it and the "american ghetto" that is my apartment and the IES kids). It makes interaction with actual Dutch people something you have to be compeltely intentional about. I am continuing to work in investigating and understanding what legalized prostitution means in the Netherlands in the human rights context. It has been a challenging experience so far trying to contact and meet with organizations. I am continually looking for a place to volunteer as well (no luck as of yet!).

Last weekend I celebrated St. Martin's Day with the Weiss family (and American family living in NL who I sometimes go to church with) and a family they are great friends with who are Dutch. It's a lot like our Halloween except the kids run around with paper lanterns from door to door singing a few specials songs in exchange for candy and clemintines. They even sang at a Chinese restaurant in the neighborhood and received some Chinese treats! It was so much fun corraling this lively group of kids scream-singing the songs and eating Dutch pankoeks afterwards with the whole family. I got to test out some of my Dutch on some of them (which prompted some uproarious laughter, haha, I'll have to keep working on that!) To have the chance to spend time with in a warm home with kid chaos and animals and family's with good humor was such blessing and really memorable.

Sinterclaus comes to Amsterdam this Sunday! (Similar to Santa Clause, but make no mistake, Sinterclaus has some exclusivly Dutch attributes...oh yes) I may get to go to the arrival festivities with another Dutch family whose au pair, Drea, I met through the family I babysit. She helped me fix my bike today...Wilhelmina has been a bit tempermental recently... it's kind of funny/alarming when bits of your bike suddenly clatter behind you on your way around the city, heh. But I did get to meet one of my neighbors, a bookbinder across the street (when I stepped inside the shop I felt like I had gone back in time to the 1930s- it was kind of magical), who lent me some tools and told me the secret soap ingredient the Dutch use to wash bike oil off their hands.

That's all for now (I know I have missed some things but alas, they'll have to surface in some other post). Take care~

NYC Amnesty/St. Bart's

2005-11-18T06:19:00.000+01:00

Here is the paper I wrote for the President's Humanitarian Award I recieved for my Amnesty internship this past summer. I really enjoyed writing this bit of prose and think it offers a step inside the experience I am profoundly thankful for. I recorded a speech for Chapel that was a shortened version of this piece they played in late October at the WJC- as far as I know it went pretty well :*)

The President’s Award for

Humanitarian Service 2005

Choosing to Begin

To begin sometimes seems to admit some sort of end. I think part of me is involved in some adamant retort against these endings. I’d like to think of everything enflamed in one revolving continuum, beginning to begin and begin again. Or perhaps it’s just that voice whispering from inside of me that’s threatening to steal my memories, things I cannot forget. I know that I cannot shelve my summer in New York City working at Amnesty International off to the side after the glow of the lights fade and the buzz of traffic no longer rings in my ears. I must remember the faces and the work and the experiences I was blessed with through the communities that fed me in more ways than one.

There were the inmates, the farmers, the sisters, the wardens, detainees, the mothers and grandfathers, the captured sons just a bit younger than myself, the terrorists, the victims turned conquerors, the dead, the policewomen, the ordinary people with striking visions; all these webs of life I was connected to through my work on 8^th Avenue and 34^th Street. They have unknowingly woven their invisible subtleties into my eyes, my hands, my mind. Striking like cut glass glinting in the sunlight, these snippets of stories are portraits frozen in time. They piece themselves into a worn quilt enflamed in blazing colors and swerving shapes. Though I will never meet them, I feel as though I have known them because I have ached with them and moved beneath the gift of their sorrow or scorn attempting to piece together a flank of understanding. Somehow I can hope that I am dancing a timid step towards the change that could keep some of these stories from resurfacing with different names and faces. Just maybe.

Stepping into the head organ of Amnesty International USA pushed me in directions that contrasted and complimented the activism and advocacy I had previously done on my own at William Jewell. To break down Amnesty into the simplest of forms, I would say at its foundation it is the sum of two main parts. True to form as it originally began, Amnesty is simply people. It is the conglomeration of grass-roots chapters, ordinary people like you and me, bound together with a basic, common goal: to prevent prisoners of conscious from being isolated and forgotten and to educate and engage each other on humans rights issues. We write letters to czars, prime ministers, diplomats, judges and presidents. We hold vigils, sign petitions, invite speakers, play music and make as much noise as we see fit to raise awareness, or in other words, connect our communities, friends and families to a bird’s eye perspective. One that allows us to apply values mirroring our constitutional freedoms and rights to our world- the neighboring and the distant.

The other half of the equation is the work I dove into this summer. Besides domestic activism and education, Amnesty is also research and investigation, keen and watchful and detailed. Every year Amnesty releases reports detailing relevant human rights issues around the world. This summer, for example, I worked on research for reports dealing with issues in the United States involving violence against Native American women in the Navajo Nation, public housing for domestic violence victims, police brutality against lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender persons, as well as custodial sexual misconduct in prisons between inmates and guards.

As a full-time research intern, I was in for a three-month submersion into the bustling world of an international human rights, NGO employee- this was a real job. No donut toting, coffee fetching, copier jamming or stereotypical gofer intern tasks were ahead of us. We wrote briefs, edited reports, researched and scanned and picked through details, called attorney generals, e-mailed activists, contacted lawyers and victims, mailed packages bursting with information to every Department of Corrections commissioner, and read document after document on government housing policies. The list could go on for reams. Although it was challenging, tiring and even tedious at times, it was also engaging, interesting and well worth the challenge. We had to apply ourselves to some finely-tuned tasks, especially when Amnesty’s International Secretariat in London had us double checking every source and any ever so slightly unclear statement, quote or phrase for the report on police brutality against lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender individuals in the United States. In its final stages, every detail was scrutinized and hand-picked through to insure accuracy. If we couldn’t find it or weren’t 100% certain, it was thrown out. There were times where I had to remind myself of what all this amounts to- the larger perspective- in order to keep from getting disillusioned with the detailed work that could be interesting, fascinating, horrifying, angering, or unbelievable; sometimes all at once.

Although I admit that I am guilty of a somewhat colorful history involving hopeless idealism, I do try to keep my sights on somewhat. I cannot say that Amnesty wasn’t immune from the quirks and competitions hidden within any large organization or business, but I can say that it is an organization that attracts a distinct array of hard working individuals who are focused and passionate, a virtue that I think keeps those kinds of distractions at bay. Half the experience was interacting with these valuable people and participating in the various opportunities within New York City with them. We had the chance to hear speakers like the first female Iranian judge, a Nobel Peace Prize winner and even a former prisoner of conscious recently released due in part to Amnesty’s diligence on her behalf. We also sat in on panels, films, rallies, demonstrations and art exhibitions.

In addition, I had the privilege of stumbling upon certain community of individuals hidden away in the basement St. Bartholomew’s Episcopal Church. I didn’t know it that first week, but this tiny hub of service would become a glowing part of my New York experience. Every Sunday morning starting at 6am, this scattered group of volunteers laced with a kind of ordinary grace and energy, would make their way to Park Avenue and 50^thStreet. Here at St. Bart’s Soup Kitchen for the Homeless I was blessed beyond measure just by working side by side in simple observance of the men and women content in meeting a need that never ceased- feeding and clothing the homeless. My good friend Idi, the most revered veteran of St. Bart’s- a patient special education teacher with a sparkle in her eye who lived in Brooklyn, would always refer to the homeless through her relaxed Caribbean accent as “our customers” with the utmost respect and dignity. Then there was Ron, the friendly man with a lame arm who always belted out ridiculous love songs to Idi whenever clean up lasted too long. There was Jimmy, the hard working, ever cheerful tall Asian man who was stock broker from Wall Street. I don’t think I ever saw him without those grimy black rubber gloves and a garbage can at bay. Then of course was Bernie, the sassy lifelong New Yorker with a tinge of humorous cynicism and a no-nonsense attitude. One morning, much to our surprise, he dubbed himself as the welcome committee, grabbed some renegade flowered apron and tied it tight around his waist with a Julia Childs inspired flaunt, ready, as always, to get the show on the road. Joe, Bernie’s best pal, a sixty-something Casanova with a comb over, was superb at isolating the most stylish slacks from our sometimes scanty selection for the customers. Then there was Jeff, who told wild stories about communes and film making in Los Angeles, only sorted clothes in the back hallway and always seemed to be hoarding a special stash of suits for himself. I cannot forget Richard, who somehow reminded me of the brave-little toaster, but a taller, less metallic, more gentle version. The two of us, being the young blood, always had the last task of jamming all the bags and boxes bursting with randomly sorted clothing back into this tiny closet- like an awkward, squishy plastic life-sized 3D puzzle. Then there was also Maria, Richard’s mother from Trinidad, who allegedly made her famous pound cake for my birthday, except there was a slight mix-up in the kitchen and it got served to the homeless instead. And there were others too, all of which built and contributed to a community of people gathered to serve, not to ask questions, but just to just give what was given to them to those who showed up and asked for it. Within the volunteers at St. Bart’s, I found my community, and in turn, I discovered, was able to offer a community to our customers. Something consistent, somewhere safe, a place people recognized and respected them. I cannot begin to imagine a reality of life on the streets of New York City, but I know it is one that is all too real to many. At St. Bart’s they just recognized that there was something more to be done, even if they could only offer temporary solutions in the form of lasagna or a pair of clean socks.

The common thread that linked me from William Jewell to New York, New York to Amnesty International, and Amnesty to St. Bart’s proved to foster a stunningly ordinary revelation within me, if one might call it that. People just weren’t meant to be alone. And as I made my way through New York City this summer, a place bursting with people and energy and opportunity, I was stricken by how utterly alone and isolated someone can become even in the midst of this city that never sleeps. People need communities that are perceptive and attentive, safe and compassionate, respectful and alive. Ultimately, that is what Amnesty and St. Bart’s are all about when it comes down to it. We need these things not only to survive, but to thrive and we must realize that we are capable of creating these spaces around us right here. We owe it to each other to let our vision expand to include not only our needs, but also the needs of others, peeling away any political or religious filters that sometimes add complicated stipulations that can jeopardize our accountability to simply help each other. Amnesty and St. Bart’s weren’t peopled with extraordinary superhuman individuals thinking only of human rights and service opportunities. No, they are just like us, women and men who are sometimes tired and frazzled, who are busy, whose lives are fraught with many of the similar sorrows and joys you may experience too. They are just imperfect individuals who have taken a charge to be wide-eyed and accountable to their communities.

Mary and the late John Pritchard, the couple whose careful generosity transformed my wild idealist jaunt into a throbbing reality by funding my way, are ultimate examples of this kind of sight and action. I want to thank them a million times over for this gift of experience they gave me- what more could I really ask for? I can only hope that we may all be able to take a cue from their peace and keep moving forward giving what we can each day, to choose to keep beginning.

Betsy Braves the Netherlands Part 1

2005-11-18T06:07:00.000+01:00

Hey friends- ah- the creation of a much needed betsy blog. Please enjoy and refer to as much or as little in order to get your fill. I'm posting my first mass e-mail just to give this abroad experience a little perspective for those of you who need filling in.

September/October 2005

So far it's been one week of orientation and two weeks of classes,which have proved to be pretty exciting- I am really looking forward to them, and my schedule is finally set so no more running around lost and bewildered and non-dutch speaking- I've got it down (except for the dutch part which, I admit, has been a lot harder than I perceived, but I'm working on it). I'm taking a class on social trends, social policies and social problems in the Netherlands, one on the Social Meaning of Gender, auditing a lecture series on religion, human rights and development, a dutch course and a field experience class (which I LOVE, me and my prof did hand stands together in the hall on the first day, heh) which I am hoping to do some hands on research in the red light district concerning, of course, prostitution, women's human rights, policy and law, sex trafficking...any and all of the above. This week I went to visit an organization that is basically a small, non-profit that serves as a hub for information on prostitution to clients, students tourists, as well as prostitutes themselves seeking any info- taxes, health, safety (the website is very informative- http://www.pic-amsterdam.com/pic.html). So we'll see how all that evolves.

I live in an apartment with three other American students- we share a kitchen and I share a bathroom with one of them- and it's working out pretty well. My room is really nice, so big (major transition from this summer!) and we live in a really nice area of town. I bought a bike last week!! Amsterdam is the city of bikes, it's really just fabulous to get anywhere, whenever you need, oh man, I got on my bike and it was like liberation- it's an old green, fendered, kind of upright (think Wicked Witch of the West-esque) and it was promptly dubbed Wilhelmina, after it's late successor (joh's trusty bike) and of course the former Queen of NL.

Amsterdam is really such a beautiful city, and surprizingly clean from my perspective. There's so much history here, so many beautiful old churches and buildings, homes, houseboats- it's just kind of a cosy feel in the centrum, the old city. There are so many markets and museums, parks, quaint cafes, galleries, and all that jazz :*). For the last two days we've had rain and some cold, chilly weather. But pretty much since we arrived it was amazingly gorgeous, very uncharasteristic of Amsterdam- warm, bright sunny, almost hot weather. Now it's like we're finally settling into fall, and I like it.

I've been out of the city a few times now, once to Zandvoort a Zee to a beach. It was sharp water that you get used to fast so long as you keep playing, with great sandbars and little hermit crabs and a fuzzy horizon. On our way home we stopped in Haarlem (Corrie ten Boom's home is there, anyone who's read The Hiding Place). Last weekend my friend Neah and I escaped to the North land, took a ferry across the river IJ North of Amsterdam and rode our bikes through the countryside, sleepy canal towns, content, munching sheepies and very large cows. We ended at Edom, right on the coast, where I have never seen so many huge sailboats all together at once. The countryside here is in such stark contrast to the city- it was feast of green, relaxed, and striking. It was very beautiful, and about 40 km altogether, so it was a good ride too :*).

I have conjured up a few families here now. My good friend Johanna left me an American family she became a part of while she was here. I spent some time with them and their three young children, and it's been a welcome and refreshing break. They are incredibly generous and open-hearted and I have really appreciated it. Their children can be very revitalizing too.
I am also begining to babysit a dutch girl, Nina. She's about 7 years old and her parents wanted an American who will speak english with her (she's fluent in both dutch and english). She's very vibrant and a lot of fun, and her parents are really interesting people- I'm excited to get a chance to get to know some Dutch people well. They took me on a cruise through the canals on their boat last weekend, which was so beautiful. So that's exciting :*).

So, that's the most of things going on with me here, a good sum up. I look forward to hearing from all of you as well! If you know anyone who should have been on this mail list, please let me know, sometimes I'm a bit scattered, yes, so just send me a quick note :*).

Also, for those of you interested, I have attached the paper I wrote for the schlarship that enabled me to work at Amnesty in NYC this summer. Some of you I haven't gotten much of a chance to really delve into that whole experience with, so, if you so desire, take a look at it, I really enjoyed writing it and I think it'll give you a little piece of the NYC Betsy.
(To those of you at Jewell, I will be "there" giving a little speech on it on October 19th, I believe, one of few chances to see me sprawled across the wall of Gano, fun and excitment for all!)

ok, well take care--

betsy

oh- and address info---
for normal mail, here is my apartment address:

Betsy Bramon
Grote Bickerstraat 56 F-4
1013 KS Amsterdam
The Netherlands

and for packages (this isn't a hint by the way, just informational, so no pressure)

Betsy Bramon
IES-ISHSS
Universiteit van Amsterdam
Prins Hendrikkade 189b
1011 TD Amsterdam
The Netherlands

2005-11-17T21:37:00.000+01:00

C'est moi and Wilhelmina in Noord-Amsterdam weaving through sleepy villiages tucked between reedy canals, docile sheep and very large cows :*).