So, you may have noticed that I have been silent since I announced my plans to write up a travelogue of my European vacation. I have the timeline in place. The problem, and probably the reason I never did this before, is that writing up a travelogue is quite time-consuming. If I could while away hours at work writing a travelogue, well, that would be one thing. But I actually have to ... work at work, so that doesn't really work.
Anyway. I will start now.
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Usually I am the one planning a trip. Usually it is a short trip, because usually I am broke. However, this time was different. This was a Big European Trip, featuring International Travel. And my parents had given me the airfare as a gift. (This was very nice but I feel I should point out that when my brother went to Europe they not only paid his airfare but also gave him a credit card to use while he was there.) And Lisa was planning it. While this made me much more relaxed, it also made me less connected. She knew people who we were going to visit, relatives and girls her family had hosted as exchange students. She had mapped the itinerary, had based it on Rick Steves books after taking a Rick Steves tour the year before. All I wanted to do was tour the Heineken factory in Amsterdam and the salt mines in Salzburg. And I wanted an authentic sachertorte in Vienna. Also my brother had been to Jungfrau – “the top of Europe” and no way was I going to let him beat me, so I either suggested or enthusiastically agreed to go there as well.
Anyway, it was pretty much anything goes with me. I was just happy to be doing some international travel. My vacation started on a Sunday afternoon when I convinced one of my Redbirds co-workers to drive me to the airport. I walked into the godforsaken Memphis airport and, of course, my flight was delayed. Thunderstorms. I had to connect in Houston, where I was meeting Lisa, and I had 40 minutes to make the connection. So when I saw the delay, I was slightly concerned. I made the connection, having the distinction of being one of the last people on the plane to Amsterdam. The flight from Houston to Amsterdam is not particularly long as transatlantic flights go, and we had the bulkhead seats (I think that's what they're called -- the ones right behind the barrier to first class) but it was miserable. I could not get comfortable. I could not sleep. We had dinner on the plane; I did not have the foresight to note what it was, but I remember it was much better than domestic fare. The movies were Little Black Book and Without a Paddle, which I have never heard of before or since.
We arrived in Amsterdam in the morning. The flight was scheduled to arrive at 8:05 a.m. local time and it was more or less on time. 8:05 a.m. in Amsterdam is 1:05 a.m. Houston/Memphis time, so you can just imagine how I felt. The Schiphol airport was festively decorated for the holiday season and not-so-festively full of cigarette smoke. We made our way to baggage claim. Lisa's bag came up fairly quickly. Mine did not. I started to think about how I was practically the last person on the plane. My travel budget did not include a new wardrobe. My bag popped up finally -- the last one off the plane. We made our way through immigration and into the Arrivals hall. We were to be picked up by Anke, a former exchange student Lisa's family had hosted. Except we had no idea how to reach her. We wandered about. We wandered about some more. Through some miracle, we managed to meet up eventually. Before we left the airport, she informed me that the Heineken factory was closed on Mondays. Or something. I was not pleased.
We drove into the city. It was a nice day, partly cloudy and cool, with a few sprinkles in the area. We parked at a garage somewhere near the VanGogh Museum, because Lisa is cultured and likes museums like that. I stopped at an ATM to withdraw euros and lost five years of my life when the ATM nearly ate my card. It returned it with a crimp in the side, however, and I did not have to freak out entirely. Before heading to the museum, we had lunch in a local pancake house, complete with cats walking around the restaurant. We walked along canals and saw houseboats and tulips and clogs that I was tempted to buy but resisted. The museum was actually really cool; it traces Van Gogh's life chronologically through paintings, but by the third floor, I was about done in by the jet lag. When we left, we adventurously took a different route back to the parking deck and promptly got lost in a local park.
Many of the houses in Amsterdam are row houses and are surrounded by other houses. Most of them have at least three or four stories. Lots of these have little window-type things up by the roofline with a winch sort of thing and a pulley; we surmised this is how people get their couches from the canal to the living room. And the bikes! People were crazy on bikes, no regards for pedestrians or traffic laws. I think I nearly lost a hand to a whizzing cyclist.
I would have loved to spend more time in the Netherlands, because, again, I wanted to tour the damn Heineken factory, and also because having read "Girl With a Pearl Earring," I would have voted to check out the Rijksmuseum and/or Delft to see works by Vermeer. Oh well, another time. (One hopes.)
Once we reached the car, Anke drove us back to her house in Ibbenbüren, Germany, which is 219 km and about two hours west of Amsterdam. I marked the border crossing into Germany by drooling on myself while sleeping, or some such similar activity. At Anke's house, we met her husband, Volkmar, and their dog, Buffy. Anke and Volkmar lived in the left half of the house, and Anke's parents lived in the right half, which was "next door" because it had a separate entrance. Anke insisted that we call home to let our parents know we had arrived safely. We got a tour of their house, which had very modern bathrooms and showers (which we used judiciously but which I am not sure were used very often otherwise) and these cool outdoor shutters which are controlled from the inside and block every single bit of light from outside. Fabulous for sleeping.
And then we slept.
