Nothing doing on the Hague trip, a) my guidebook is useless, and b) that, in some yet-civilised places in the world, many things are closed on Sundays, entirely escaped my notice.

So perhaps next Saturday...

Instead I went to the Museum Centraal in Utrecht's Museumkwartier, which, though it may indeed be the largest municipal museum in the Netherlands, still contains only enough exhibits to occupy two hours' time.

Nevertheless, a nice little museum -- currently on display is a collection of Dutch paintings of fish still life, evidently the one genre of Dutch art from the Golden Age never blessed with an exhibit all its own. Personally, I can imagine why -- just a bunch of dead, gutted, disgusting fish. But several were impressively lifelike -- judging by how strongly my stomach turned upon reflection -- which I suppose is to their credit.

The museum is largely devoted to classical works from the 15th-17th century and avant garde modern art. Neither of which much appeal to me. Come to that, little art truly appeals to me -- and I suppose I should be ashamed to admit it, but though I consider myself a pretty well-rounded, educated person, art is the one important (to me) gaping black hole: I do not get it. I don't know what makes good art good and bad art bad; I certaintly don't take the postmodernist stance that all art is equally valid, for still life and landscapes bore me, surrealism and Biblical imagery deeply disturb me, and you will never convince me that true creativity exists within the squiggles and lines that too often pass for "modern art."

But what do I know? I read the descriptions that accompany most of the paintings. "Broad brush strokes... characteristing water droplets... use of light and texture... yes... mmm..."And I look back at the painting, and I can usually see what they're aiming at -- but I still don't see... I don't know, something I think I should be seeing. Almost all art impresses me, in whatever sense, but I cannot say why, and I cannot eve articulate my own subjective tastes... I like impressionism. (shrug) My, Monet's flowers sure are pretty...

They had a limited collection of anything else, and it's the "anything else" that I'm far more comfortable with. The fish in alcohol and mounted specimens were very interesting to see after taking zoology. And there were some weapons and tools instructive of a time when the Romans ruled Utrecht. But that's about all.

That was about all I got to do today -- I left this morning on a beautiful sunny, if chilly, day, and left the museum to an altogether different one, of grey skies, high winds and steady rain. Oh, the weather here is as fickle as that of Ohio! If I ever get homesick, I can just look outside.

Well, the romance of being in Europe has certainly not worn off, though I continue to feel this obvious and unrelenting sense of difference. I love European ways, the European style, the European face -- but I guess I'm starting to get a sense for all the small ways in which these add up to a strikingly dissimilar whole. Little things -- no one here wears tennis shoes unless they're actually doing something athletic. My tennis shoes are the only shoes I've got that don't leave me with blisters after at least an hour of walking every day.

So I could buy more inconspicuous shoes -- I could buy any number of more European get-ups and gadgets... but I didn't come here to be European; I came here to be me in Europe. Now more than ever I understand how adamant Josh was not to perfectly assimilate himself into English culture -- it's one thing to get to know a different culture, sample it if you'd like -- but not to feel forced to capitulate to it. Adaptation, yes, but nothing that approaches changing who and what you are.

So I'm very happy if my tennis shoes don't look trendy here -- I never tried to look trendy in any culture. And it's not stubbornness to keep European customs at arm's length -- I never tried to assimilate myself into "American culture," either. So I find what I have seen of the Dutch and Europeans in general very charming, very spirited and agreeable, but if there's something about me that doesn't quite fit their mold that is fine -- I don't want to be European any more than I want to be American, so they can disdain me for whatever labels they may assume apply, but I will know, wherever I go, there is something untouchably my own and I will be always, determinedly, true to myself.

So -- I love Europe, perhaps more than Europe loves me, and Europe will leave its mark on me more than I will leave mine on it, but as far as it changes me I alone can say -- that is my control, and I wouldn't give it up for anything. Now a quiet evening at Bloemstraat 21 bis, a night out with the flatmates -- forgive me if I return here drunk and stupid, believe me, it annoys me as much as it does you -- and tomorrow classes begin. It's been over two months now: Break's over. What's next?

(Not for nothing: "Adam Ant"is an awesome name. Adamant? He should have made more of that. He definitely should have titled an album "Adamant." Or done commercials: "Hi, I'm Adam Ant, and I'm adamant that you...")

(After the pub, not drunk for once.)

"Two Americans and a Dane eating Italian food in Holland Japanese-style."
-Troels

I guess my social life is shaping up in spite of my every attempt to ward it off...

Tonight Francesca, Troels and I bonded over pasta, discussing politics, our approval of the European system, our disgust with conservatism, and our personal gripes with our respective heads of state.

Troels is very funny, very deadpan -- he had me believing raw sheep brains is a Danish delicacy. :) Silly American, they don't each much differently than you do! And he does a spot-on Southern (US) accent.

Then we had our house meeting at our pub, sometimes uncomfortable and pointless conversation, but my flatmates are all great. I splurged on the ridiculous €4 Smirnoff -- the vodka & lime is cheaper, remind me -- but only had one. I am, I assure you, perfectly sober. I am tired already of beer, but I'll try anything five or six times.

And then Francesca and I had a pretty serious talk about family, and love, and feminism and what makes you who you are. I am glad to have moved pas the "So what's your major?" line of conversation with at least one person here, yet I'm surprised I have so soon opened up to someone so completely. I was honest and thorough in answering every question she asked. Maybe it's because this will be, at most, a 5-month relationship. Anyway, I do feel very comfortable with her, and while I still don't think we have much of any substance in common, it's nice to have a friend.

She looked through all my pictures, though, and now I miss everybody.