Day 1, Part 2: Schiphol Amsterdam

 
I sat next to an absolutely charming Dutch gentleman on the flight from Minneapolis to Amsterdam. He said I look Dutch, and he isn’t the first one to have said it. Now that I’m in Holland, I must agree. I’m trying to blend in as much as possible, so I’m stoked. Unfortunately, I won’t have further opportunity to blend in with Nederlanders: I can’t change my ticket to have a week-long layover here, no matter how much money I throw at them. I wish I figured that out earlier, then I would have coughed up the 6,40 eu to take the train into the city and look around for an hour or two, but instead I just walked outside the airport during my long layover.

Flying in was pretty once we got under the clouds. I could see the Dutch architecture straight off of postcards, with modern buildings sprinkled in too. I was most impressed at how FLAT the place is though. It’s obvious that this place should be flat as a pancake- otherwise there would be no worry of flooding and fighting back the sea. It’s all at sea level. But really, it's flat. The layout of irrigation canals (or places that they gave up on keeping dry?) was cool- orderly and hectic all at the same time. The flowers aren't in bloom, so I didn't have a post-card worthy view.

 

I have been checking out women’s shoes and fashion as my layover pastime. My pink Spanish cowgirl boots were a good call, women do take their footwear seriously here. If I really wanted to be cool though, I should have bought calf length flat soled leather boots. Maybe I still should, given that I love boots. Flats and tights are pretty popular too, as are bright and flashy heels. I’ve also seen a good deal of hipster sneakers too. I have spotted zero Chacos and only one pair of flip-flops-Americans beware? Cute fitted jackets are in, as are belted dresses or long shirts over tights or skinny jeans. Unfortunately for me, all these fashions are best for skinny-legged women. What does the beefy Dutch girl wear? I will keep my eyes peeled for the stubby-legged muscular woman, and check her out for my fashion oracle. I feel pretty out of place here, but when I catch a look at myself in the mirror, I don’t feel so bad. Maybe I’m not stylin’, but I certainly could have done much worse for myself, and I don’t look abnormally large compared to women here, just not thin.


 


I am in shock about prices here. Yes, it’s the airport, where things are always on sale at high prices, yes, I have a tendency to be stingy and in shock about prices as a daily routine. The price in euros for most things is about what I’d expect in USD, maybe a bit better (beer and brat for 6 euro). The thing is, I paid $1.52 for every single E1,00. That’s what they mean by “the dollar is weaker.” I was expecting that euros would be worth more - what I bought for $1.00 would be E0,67 here. Not quite the case, the value and money conversions are at different rates, and in the end, the dollar is worth less. The biggest shocker for me was the rail into town- E6,40 to get there and back, or about $10. As a train ride, that seems ok, but as a commuter train… I paid $1.75 for a bus ride in Anchorage the other day, I’m pretty sure the train in Atlanta was less than $3.50 for a two-way pass.

Day 1: Still on a jet plane

Well, staying up all night sure did the trick: I slept like a baby the entire flight to Minneapolis. I even fell asleep when people were still boarding… and trying to communicate with me. Unfortunately I’m still loopy and stupid and now feeling slightly sick. What’s the point of avoiding jetlag if I’m just going to end up lying in bed for a few days anyway? Kirsten’s really good judgment strikes again.

Actually, I’d like to dedicate this posting to Jeni Floener. It’s not as cool as getting a song or a book dedicated to you by some well-known and talented person, but a dedicated blog posting is the best I have to offer. Jeni and I spent far too many nights working on engineering homework until so late it wasn’t even that early. I have many memories of us both feeling like crap. Then, we had to attempt to be functional the next day too: all I have to do is find the right gate. So Jeni, if you’re reading this, now that we’ve graduated, let’s keep all-nighters restricted to worthy endeavors, like partying or traveling to go party. I’m nervous about customs though. As little German I speak, I know even less Dutch. I’m pretty sure there will be an “English option,” but what if I’m still stupid and answer a question wrong and get caught and they strip search me and probe places that I would rather not think about right now?

 
My journey began in good form. I made pancakes for my roommates, but didn’t calculate start time right, so I ended up being really rushed at the end, took a hectic speed shower, and never ate a pancake. I had made myself some nutritious and delicious salads out of the leftover produce I still had in the fridge. The first was kale and carrot slaw with craisins stolen from Elissa (sorry) and sunflower seeds.  
The dressing is olive oil, white wine vinegar, salt, pepper, and a dash each of birch syrup and sesame oil. The second is tomatoes, garlic, pesto, balsamic vinegar, and olive oil.

I threw both salads and their tupperware into a leftover REI bag, and thought nothing of it. Once I got to the security line, I took my quart bag of 3 oz containers and laptop and added them to the bag, for fast and easy access. 40 minutes later (the security line was ridiculously long), the tomato salad had leaked, the bag failed, and I spilled garlicky juice all over the floor, myself, my computer, and worst of all, my new pink Spanish cowgirl boots, which are now permanently stained. 20 minutes after that I was actually able to talk to an employee and tell them that there was a puddle of juice in the middle of the line, but he did nothing about it.

Leaving on a Jet Plane: Germany, Day 0

Every adventure has a beginning. Every story has a page 1. I am leaving for Germany bright and early tomorrow, and I decided, "What better way to start a blog of a trip with some complete gibberish?"



"Gibberish?" you ask. Yes, complete gibberish, total nonsense. I tried to write one of my roommates a heartfelt goodbye, I'll miss you note, and it makes no sense. The words get all crammed up together in some spots and are completely missing from others. So much for notes to the rest of the house. The babble is because it is 4 in the morning, Alaska standard time, and my brain is no longer functioning. Why am I up so late? Here's my take on fighting jetlag: If Germany is 10 hours ahead of Alaska , it will take far too long (and too much willpower) to adjust 3 hours per day until I catch up to those industrious Germans who work in "tomorrow" while we drink beer "tonight." My flight is at 8:30 in the morning, so I have partied, and am now staying up all night long tonight in order to get on the plane, pass out completely, sleep all the way to Minnesota, and declare myself, "a changed woman." Who knows if it will work that way, all I know is that I am beginning a 6 week journey to a far and distant land sleep deprived, squinty eyed, and bored. Please let me get on that plane tomorrow morning, I might not make any sense sober either.



So, let's get some interesting philosophical ramblings out of my brain before it wakes up to make pancakes.



What do I want out of this trip?
Oh... I suppose I want to come to know and love the origin of my nose, learn the diet and fashion tricks of the svelte Europeans (cigarettes, I hear), see the origins of much of American culture as we know it, and most of all, celebrate the end of college. Do I want to find love? No, a whirlwind romance with a Franz or Jan or Rolf would just be too emotionally messy. How about "love?" Nothing like more men to clean the slate left behind by others. The idea is tempting, but I've been watching too many FBI serial killer TV episodes (Criminal Minds) and know that our "unsub" will be an attractive and confident male in his late 20's or early 30's who can lure women where he wants to brutally murder them as some sort of voodoo magic to make up for a strange relationship with his mother. Then there's STD's, pregancy, rape, roofies, mugging, and heartbreak to contend with.

I would like to learn German, and maybe, finally, go against the American trend of knowing only one language: grammatically incorrect English. I took Spanish in high school, knowing that it would be a useful language in America, and knowing what my mother thought of the German teacher at Chugiak she substituted for. If it weren't for family, I would probably be going to Italy or Spain or South America or southeast Asia. My family speaks English quite well, so I don't need German to get along with them, but still, my pride compels me to learn how to gargle these marbles. It hasn't compelled me, thus far, to actually learn much German. Here's what I have to work with:

Numbers: 1-whatever, or at least a few million
Please, thank you, sorry, good morning, good day, good night, goodbye
I love you. Please pass the salad dressing.
I love salad dressing. Please pass the love.
What is your name? His/her name? My name is....
How old are you/somebody else?
Where do you/he/she/me come from?
Silent night (the song)
a warning song about coffee that warns children not to be like the Muslim, he can't leave it alone.
A dutch sounding tongue twister about the clover-mowing habits of monks.
My way of telling people I'm lactarded: "Milch mach mich nicht mechtig" = "Milk makes me not powerful"
And... that's about it. I'm screwed.

Well, enough ramblings for the night. This should be a large enough sample of writing for you, dear reader, to conclude that indeed, I am no longer coherent (or interesting), and crossing my fingers will be just about as effective in making sure I bring underwear, socks, and passport as a third check. Take care, unintended fan, and take hope: this may be the worst blog to come.