In the nineteen and early twentieth centuries, New York City experienced a boom in immigration that brought about the mixture and infusion of the various cultures brought to the city from the “old country.” This “melting pot,” as it has come to be known, spread throughout the rest of the country as the United States grew and evolved. Many ancestors of Americans today passed through places like Ellis Island in NYC and Angel Island in L.A., in search of freedoms and the pursuit of “The American Dream.”

During the past two weeks, the city of Nijmegen and the ISN (International Student Network) have become a virtual melting pot of sorts. A few days ago, I ate a dinner in which each of the 20 members of my mentor group (a group of international students with two Dutch mentors), representing ten or fifteen countries, brought a dish that was typical food of their culture. So, dinner consisted of pierogi, a Polish dish similar to fruit turnovers, only with meat and cheese instead of fruit; tortilla de patatas, a Spanish dish which is their version of an omelet with fried potatoes, and of course, a selection of exotic Latvian, Hungarian, and Polish alcohols. I added my own touch by bringing a “dish” that surprisingly few of the Europeans I have met have had—the good old-fashioned American staple, the infamous, “P.B. & J.”

Sunset on the North Sea. Eric Hemphill/The Bulletin.

Anyway, this dinner, though on the surface appearing to be just a dinner between new friends, was more complex to me than that. Every person in the group introduced their dish with a certain degree of excitement and energy about the opportunity to share a little part of the culture they left behind when they came to Nijmegen. It made me proud to be a part of this version of man-kind; that these people were together, enjoying the company of others in this neo-melting pot of sorts, wherein every experience, however enjoyable or momentarily uncomfortable, or even down right ridiculous, is a brilliant opportunity to learn and grow and adapt. Somewhere along the line, it changes a person.

I felt a certain degree of haughtiness about the whole situation. I felt that old nostalgia kick in, reminding me of where I was and the situation I had gotten myself into. I was reminded of all the paperwork, the bureaucratic, forgive me, bullshit, that I had to wade through to get to this point—sitting in a kitchen, surrounded by people talking together in a language not native to them, as if they were old friends, eating good food, and learning what it means to be alive in a place like this. I felt the burning desire to learn more, to drink more, to eat more…. Anything to prolong this moment in time. Maybe it was this desire…or maybe it was Polish vodka reminding me it was there… either way, I got the point.

Eric Hemphill/The Bulletin.

The remainder of the week leading up to classes was very enjoyable. I biked the city with friends, sampled good beers, ate like a king, laughed, learned, and discovered more than I thought possible. This city; this country; all the people I have met; everything has fit together to construct a new, more hopeful version of my reality. A reality that allows me to see the negative through a positive scope, because, no matter what happens during the day, no matter how horrible or trying everything gets, at dusk, there is always the opportunity for good drinks and good food with good friends in a place that has become a haven for me; a kind of promised land that I have been searching for… figuratively speaking, of course. This, to me, has been the most important discovery during my short time here so far—that the tangible, nearly hedonistic act of relaxing with good friends and a good beer can overcome almost anything. I, too, like my ancestors many generations prior, am searching for some kind of American dream. Though my ancestors searched for it in the possibility offered by the United States, I will search for it in the possibilities not available in the U.S. The possibilities that lie at the point where cultures mesh together into something new; something profound. All things considered… I like it here. To say the least.

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The River Waal. Eric Hemphill/The Bulletin.

So I have been writing and re-writing this first entry for some time, and I cannot seem to produce something that I feel explains the emotions I am going through fully. I have been over and over it in my head, and I just don’t think our language, being imperfect as all forms of communication are, includes the words to describe some things. This being one of those cases, I will have to make due with what I am given in the way of the written word. Here are the facts:

Nine very long days ago, I boarded a plane with my friend Andrew Thomas. We flew twelve hours, including a layover in beautiful Newark, NJ, and landed in Amsterdam, Netherlands, at approximately 7 p.m. Central European Summer Time. This time zone is about seven hours ahead of Central Standard Time, meaning our bodies registered our arrival as being somewhere around midnight on Friday, Aug. 14.

It took sometime to get from Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport to the central train station in the heart of Amsterdam. Arriving there was one of the most surreal experiences of my life. The city is so full of energy, even at seven in the morning, that it more than made up for two exhausted yet wide-eyed Americans’ lack of proper beauty sleep.

According to the map on the Web site of the Amsterdam Renaissance Hotel, which Andy’s father graciously booked for us, the walk to the hotel from the train station was short and fairly straightforward.

However, for two college kids on their first trip to Europe, it seems things are seldom this easy. We walked through the streets and canals surrounding the train station for nearly 30 minutes before a striking realization dawned on us—we were lost in the biggest city either of us had ever been to, 30 minutes after arriving. We must have made a circle around the hotel five or six times before we finally started to panic and began to ask directions from anyone who didn’t look as though they would have “Shanghaied” us on the spot.

Eventually, with the help of an extremely nice tour guide, we found our hotel and settled in for a quick nap that turned into a kind of jet-lagged coma. We slept for about seven hours before getting up and wondering the city for a few glimpses in to the supposed soft drug capital of the world.

At around nine o’clock the next morning, after lying awake from around 4 a.m., we dressed and enjoyed the best breakfast either of us had ever had. We packed our 100 lbs or so of luggage each and set off back to the train station to catch the one-hour train ride across the county to our home for the next 5 months—Nijmegen, Netherlands.

Nijmegen. Eric Hemphill/The Bulletin.

The train ride was highly efficient and the scenery throughout gave us a nice indication of the landscape of the country. In a lot of ways, it resembled Kansas – rolling hills and farmlands mixed with the occasional town or village. A kind of inaudible melody erupts from the countryside and quaint European farming villages.

We arrived in Nijmegen at around two o’clock CEST (that’s 7 a.m. CST, for those of you keeping track), and were greeted by members of the International Student Network here at Radboud University Nijmegen. From there we were escorted to campus to stand in lines for two or three hours until we were finally given our keys and allowed to go to our rooms… I was, in a word, exhausted.

Over the next week, the number of emotions I felt were more than in any other point in my life. Fear, resentment, elation, homesickness, anticipation and curiosity are just a few. While these emotions swirled in my head, the rest of the International students and myself were carted all over the city that week and were shown all the aspects of Nijmegen and the Netherlands which were important to get a handle on in order to live in this city. A city tour, a pub crawl, a trip to Amsterdam and a beach in Zanvoort and a weekend trip to the farming community of Putten were all included in the festivities of the orientation week.

We were being taxied around so much that there was not much time to think about home, or much of anything for that matter, so the emotions subsided to the back of my mind while I took in the sites, and had what was quite literally the time of my life.

There were moments, however, in which the nostalgia of the situation truly hit me. I had actually done it. I was in another country, learning so much so fast that I was fairly certain my head would explode if any more was crammed into it. Different people with different cultures and different languages all came together and bonded under pressures of being in a new place, seemingly completely alone. These people formed instant friendships despite historical animosity towards one another, or the difficulties of language and social dissimilarity.

This, to me, was the biggest accomplishment this week—the fact that these people from all different backgrounds and cultures could all come together and create bonds that I hope will last for a very long time. Sure, it may have been just one big party, but it was the most celestial party I’ve even been to. I don’t know if there is a god, but if there is, I imagine this is how he meant for humans to act towards one another. Learning and teaching with people you have only known for a handful of hours. No bickering, no animosity, just uncommon people finding common ground in their similarities and differences. This was the start of what I sincerely hope will be the greatest time in my life.

-Eric Hemphill

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