Amsterdam

After nearly a week of unwinding, unpacking, and eying my inbox for news of my travelling man, I have finally dragged my sorry internet-self onto blogger. Throughout my trip, I took mini jot-notes of that day's "activities", which I am very happy to share with you now (plus a few embellishments). Yes, even on vacation I make lists.

Day Zero aka TTYL

After gorging on fast-food at the airport with team Fleming, Barton Fink and I boarded Air Transat flight 180 to Frankfurt at around six-thirty pm. With a window seat, a million books collectively, and fully-charged MP3 players, we were set for the six-hour trip. I actually semi-enjoyed this flight, and being someone who hates flying (the night before I had a dream where I fell out of a plane), that's saying a lot.

We watched Definitely, Maybe (but not The Bucket List) and enjoyed President's Choice Indian food for supper and a "muffin" (I would say cupcake) for breakfast. Seeing as we didn't expect (free) meals on this flight, the food, which was pleasantly edible, was a surprise. We flew over England and saw lighthouses on the coast. It was a clear night, so we were treated to some beautiful views of farms and shining cities in mainland Europe. When we landed in Germany, it was around one in the morning our time, but nearing six in Europe. This hurt my brain, as we had successfully time-traveled into the future.

Day One

After being shepherded by an elderly Italian man ("This would never happen in Canada!" he said.), we finally found our luggage (a fair distance from where we were told to find our things), and made our way to the ICE train to Amsterdam. These crazy trains travel at over 200 kilometers per hour, and gave us our first taste of the European countryside, which seems to be a mix of farmland, impeccably manicured (and bordering on quaint) towns, Gothic churches, and big industrial blocks of concrete.

We arrived in Amsterdam four hours later, after being checked over by the Dutch police. They're blond(e) and have pretty braids. We stepped off the train into Centraal Station, and were promptly confused as to what the heck we should be doing. After a multi-lingual lady at an info desk told us we needed a strippenkaart (please join me in petitioning Metro Transit to adopt this name for bus passes) to take the tram. We sought out said strippenkaart and boarded the "54 Gein" tram to Hollandrecht, about 20 minutes outside of the city.

Upon arriving at Hollandrecht (the Cole Harbour of Amsterdam) we had to go into a semi-creepy, small bar (the Big Leagues of the Cole Harbour of Amsterdam) to use their pay phone to call the hostel. Several minutes later, a white van driven by a plucky Australian careened into the parking lot and brought us to what would be an oasis of calm, haven of ducklings, and... well, it had hammocks: Lucky Lake!

We briefly explored the area, and found the "camp" to be next to what seemed to be cottage country. Beautiful little homes were set up around canals, with boats bobbing along out front. The lake itself is very big, with many little islands that you can swim or canoe out to. While we were very impressed by the beauty surrounding our little hostel, sleep-deprivation set in and we succumbed to a mid-afternoon nap.

A few hours later we awoke with determination in our wee hearts. We took the tram back into the city and commenced a grand tradition that we would partake in every day of our trip: copious amounts of walking that left our knees aching and feet swollen. The sole reason I did not gain weight on this trip (hello, delicious food) is our marathon walks.

Amsterdam is built in rings around canals, so it's pretty easy to navigate. Despite this, within minutes of our exploration, we landed in the red-light district. Not that I knew that at first. Please note the following conversation:

A: Wow.
L: What?
A: Umm, the prostitutes.
L: WHAT? WHERE?
A: There was like twenty of them back there!

We wandered through a street where every window contained a mostly-naked lady, and yet I managed to miss that. Mostly because I was hungry. Food > naked ladies. I promptly walked back through the street and gawked. After that first incident, you pretty much don't notice when the red-lit windows pop up again... they're just part of the background. They didn't pay any attention to us, either; women and couples aren't giving them much business, I'm guessing.

Amongst the beautiful old buildings and bustling streets we continued. I honestly think any city without a major body of water, a river, or canals is missing out. We crossed dozens of bridges and sat to rest in many little parks that are scattered across the city. Not once, but twice, we were offered cocaine and ecstasy by some well-dressed African dudes. Coffee shops and head shops began to pop up, all packed with tourists (nary a local in sight). Yes, this was Amsterdam, alright.

We had a nice dinner in a small restaurant where we met our first "cafe cat" (kept to keep the mice away). After dinner we sat down for a drink in the city's smallest pub, which became a favourite of our's. Everyone we met was very cool, if not a little weird. We agreed that Germans (and Austrians) tended to be the nicest people to chat with, while the Dutch were their equally nice, but zany cousins.

Because we were still tired (with our internal clocks further confused by our afternoon nap) we turned in early that night. The sun didn't set until well after eleven. It was a weird night.

Day Two

Renewed by a restful night in a caravan, we got up early and took the tram into the city at around nine for some more marathon walks. Thankfully, one of these walks sent us in the direction of the Rijksmuseum. Knowing embarassingly little about Dutch history, I left with at least a nugget of knowledge on the Netherland's Golden Age. History was highlighted by everything from paintings, sculptures, furniture, clothing, jewellery, and even oddities like dollhouses made to be exact replicas of the owner's home. The highlight of the Rijksmuseum is its massive art collection from Rembrandt and his pupils, including the stunningly huge Night Watch.

Close to the Rijksmuseum is the Heineken Factory, which to our dismay was closed. Instead, we ventured over to the Van Gogh museum, which houses the world's largest collection of works by the artist. The museum is set up so you can progress chronologically through his paintings. This is such an interesting way to experience a body of work, as his improvement as an artist and his drastic switch from somber Dutch tones to the spastic colour of his French period are so pronounced. To see those "crazy sunflowers", his numerous self-portraits, and dozens of landscape works was such a treat. At the end of his life, when living in a hospital because of mental illness, Van Gogh still produced beautiful pieces of art right up until his untimely death. These were such a privilege to see.

Finishing with marathon standing in the museums (this is somehow worse than walking), we decided to head back to the hostel for dinner. Not enticed by their offers of pizza or "toasties" (grilled cheese sandwiches), we decided to rent bikes and head to the nearest village, Abcoude. These bikes were fabulous. One speed, with "pedal backwards" brakes and handlebars that stuck straight up... I loved it. No one wears helmets in Holland, so bravely we ventured out, our poor Canadian heads fearing death.

It had been years since I last biked, so it was a joy just to pedal on the side of the highway. Once we got into the little village, with its bike paths among lush trees and canals flanking the main roads, I was practically blissful, forgetting that I had been walking all day and was now once again, gasp, exercising.

We bought our dinner at a little grocery store, indulging in some delicious gouda. We spent the night eating, drinking, and relaxing with some fellow travelers, most notably a really nice couple from Colorado, who made it sound like the best place on earth to live. Right.

Day Three

Venturing once again into Centraal Station, Andrew and I booked our train seats to France, based on a tip from the Colorado couple. Being trusting, naive travellers, we had believed our Travel Cuts rep when she said a Eurail pass enables us just to hop onto any train we please. Wrong wrong wrong. While this pretty much is the case in Germany (and for trains going to Germany), all other trains you must make bookings on and there are only a limited number of seats for pass-holders. Oh yeah, you also have to pay booking fees on top of your Eurail pass. I'm not so sure that I'll get the pass for my next trip across the pond... it let us down quite a few times.

Near Centraal Station is Dam Square, where, at the time, a huge outdoor volleyball game was being played... complete with imported sand. Being a huge, cheesy tourist at heart, I dragged the boyfriend to Mme. Tussauds. I kind of don't want to admit how fun it was. You start off with a crazy, moving exhibit that shows the history of the Netherlands (once again, the Golden Age... which I'm guessing must have ruled). Confusingly, from there you get dragged into a Pirates of the Caribbean ride... tour... show... thing, with live actors that yell and jump out at you. Seeing as I was previously denied EuroDisney, I was pleased that some sort of attraction like this made its way into our otherwise "authentic" trip (ha ha). Following the scare-fest, we were shown world leaders, artists, and of course, useless celebrities. Needless to say, I had fun.

After leaving the wax museum, we embarked on another long, hot walk to the Anne Frank Huis (house). This was a walk that I found a little annoying, as the place is so hard to find... surprising when you consider it's probably the most famous building in the city. We walked by it several times, only to finally spot it because of the huge lineup. The building was labeled with two computer print-outs with maximum size 18 font. Yeesh.

Once inside, I did forget about being annoyed and tired (well, mostly... I did appreciate the chairs). Each room in the house contains different relics from Anne and her family's lives, including video interviews with those who knew her. Seeing her tiny diary, her wallpaper where she pasted photos of movie stars, and remnants of her time Auschwitz was something else. To get to the family's living quarters, you have to open a bookcase (on a hinge to conceal a doorway), and climb many stairs. All of the windows are blacked out, like they were when the Franks lived there. It's hard to believe that in these tiny, cramped rooms, a young girl found such inspiration and hope.

Back at the hostel that evening, we were enthused by our bike trip the night before, and once again rented the clunky one-speeders. This time we biked the many paths behind our hostel and surrounding the lake. It was nice to see so many people out smiling and enjoying themselves. Families were out on their boats, enjoying the beautiful weather, and others walked back and forth from the beach. We visited with some goats that had taken up residence in a front yard (along with chickens and rabbits) and biked underneath the moon while the canals lapped silently by our feet.

Day Four

Having failed to get a hold of our friend Alex previously (I am not friends with Dutch phones), we arranged to meet in Dam Square so we could finally see our friend from back home. Before meeting up with him, we once again visited the city's smallest pub. I also got to have what will now be known as a guilty pleasure... frites with fritessauce (also known as fries with mayo). I have no clue why this seemed so delicious, but it did. My arteries hated me for it, but I was in heaven.

Alex, world traveller and probably a genius, arrived on his bike and took us on a walk outside of the city centre. He has been living and studying in Amsterdam since September, and definitely knew his way around the city. Alex took us into the Oost (East [check it, my name basically means East Side]) side of the city, where we were able to get away from the tourist attractions, and see where people actually lived and worked. A highlight of this side of the city is the Oosterpark (get it) where dozens of species of birds come to rest and enjoy the water. After tiring of walking, we went to a neighbourhood pub and enjoyed some very tasty Belgian beers. Our morning the next day would be an early one, so we bid adieu and went back to the hostel to pack and relax in the hammocks one last time.

Seeing as I wrote this much about Amsterdam I am going to save Paris for tomorrow. Cheers!

A new day in Nouvelle-Ecosse

When I packed to go away a few weeks ago, I was adamant that my hair straightener was coming with me. This required forking over money for an adapter so I could plug into some hot, hot Euro electricity.

My hair has always been an issue as there is just way too much of it. Even when it's shorter, it's very thick and likes to play its own game while I futilely try to tame it. My hair laughs at me, I swear.

Off I went on my little vacation, stopping first at the "summer camp for grownups" that was Lucky Lake outside of Amsterdam. My first morning at the hostel was the only time I tried to beat down the masses of hair on my head. I woke up early and walked across the grass to the shared bathroom and spent twenty minutes trying to undo damage by planes, trains, and really bad shampoo (thanks, Shopper's Drug Mart and your tempting travel kits).

For the next fourteen days I could barely run my fingers through the masses of unruly hair. It stuck out in odd directions, became frizzy, and stuck to my forehead; I basically looked like a street urchin.

Why all the hair-talk? This trip was really good for me because it made me less self-conscious. I was able to just go out there and have fun. No apprehension, no planning... we would step out onto the road and walk until our feet ached and our knees threatened to give out.

With terrible hair I made new friends, saw fantastic places both natural and man-made, and stepped back into a history that Nova Scotia's paltry few centuries doesn't even scratch. I forgot about myself and left the hair straightener in the bag.

In the next few days I'll have to write about this trip in a more detailed manner. It was good, it was really good. When Andrew and I first started dating (and I was still kickin' it at Dartmouth Book Exchange), we planned out dream vacation. Three years later we lived it.

My man is in Munich and will be heading to Switzerland and the south of France after that. "Cannes" you believe it? I miss my travel-buddy already, even though I know it's only a month.

I guess, mein blog, I want to say that I feel very happy and at ease. Oh yeah, and we're already planning next year's trip. We even have a place to stay in Portugal.