The trip to Amsterdam was pretty uneventful after I left the Rome airport and, once in awhile, it's refreshing to have an uneventful transit experience. I arrived in Amsterdam early afternoon on Friday, May 2, to be greeted by Tim, my Dutchie friend whom I went to visit for the weekend.
Considering I had been to Amsterdam twice before, that meant that the last stop on the itinerary of my four-month superviaje could be a low-key one, without having to rush around the city, hitting all the museums and landmarks in three days' time. I spent a good part of the afternoon hanging out with Tim and Sanne, Tim's girlfriend, on the roof deck of their apartment. With a sunny, summer-like day, and a view of the city as our backdrop, it was a great way to kick-off the weekend. I even developed a game (go figure). Whenever they had a quick side-conversation or said a sentence in Dutch, I decided I was going to translate it into English for everyone. Important item to note here: I don't speak Dutch. Hence, the fun in the game! The funny part was, out of three consecutive turns, I actually got a sentence right. Guess my batting average ain't so bad.
Over the course of the weekend, I did manage to see some sites that I hadn't seen before, always with my personal Dutch guide or two. For example, I got to see Vondelpark, the Central Park of Amsterdam. The park has 120 acres, within which you can find a bike path, a film museum, an open air theater, a playground, and when it's good weather out (like it was all weekend), lots and lots of people. I also checked out an outdoor market called the Albert Cuyp Market, which is apparently the busiest market in the Netherlands. While I was at the market, I indulged in two Dutch specialties (not at the same time): raw herring, accompanied by some sort of pickle, and stroopwafel, which means ''syrup waffle.'' What could be bad about something that translates to ''syrup waffle''? (Duh -- the answer is *nothing*.)
One night, a group of us went out to an Amsterdam nightclub that was having 90's night -- roughly translated? A Dutch disco playing songs that I have on cassette tape! (Anybody out there remember cassette tapes?) And then, of course, they also threw in some Dutch classics that took over the airwaves in the 90s, so those songs were new for me. Either way, a fun night was had by all!
Sunday, I got to get to know a town outside of Amsterdam, called Monnickendam, which is the hometown of both Tim and Sanne. It's a town right on the water that has a lot of private yachts, and the old town is a charming place to walk around. Being that Sunday was May 4, that meant it was a holiday in the Netherlands: Remembrance of the Dead. It would probably be a combination of our Memorial Day and Veterans' Day. Tim, Sanne, and I went to Dam Square during the 7pm hour because there was a whole ceremony revolving around a 2-minute period of silence to begin at 8pm. The queen of the Netherlands was there, in addition to the prime minister, the mayor, and other important people (like Tim, Sanne, and me). A great deal of people filled the square, and the ceremony was televised. I was just grateful that there were Jumbotrons, since there were too many people for me to be able to see the main events happening directly in front of me.
The morning of Monday, May 5 was my last morning of the trip, and it was a little more eventful than I had expected it to be. When I arrived at the check-in counter, I had planned to check my bag (cost-free, of course) and make my way toward the gate, thus starting my long day of travel. But no. Not in the least. My bag was almost 7kg over the legal limit. That's about 15 pounds. And the penalty for excess baggage whether you are 7 kilos or 75 kilos over is the same: 50 euros ($77.60). What? I'm not paying 50 euros! I can make this work. *I can *make* this work.* My last test of the superviaje came at this point, when it came time to go back to the States, and there was no way I was giving up my euros. My options? Well, there's, take stuff out and leave it. Or ship it. Nope, not going to do either of those. Then there's, pay the 50 euros. Not going to do that, either. So, I took the suitcase off the scale, put all my stuff down on the floor, and got to work (who ever said this was a four-month vacation and there was no work involved was surely mistaken). One shirt, two shirt, three shirt, four. Five shirt, six shirt, and a Netherlands soccer jersey to top it off. Still not enough? Okay, then I'll also wear two jackets and tie my sneakers to my backpack. How do you like them apples now, check-in lady? (It kind of reminded me of a certain ''Friends'' episode, actually.) So, after putting my bag on the scale four times, resisting the check-in agents' advice to just pay the 50 euros and be more comfortable wearing my regular clothes, I went at it my own way, kept at it, and ultimately crossed the finish line at security, with all my remaining euros tucked safely away. Beep beep, beep beep. Oh boy, what now? (Fortunately, they didn't make me take my shoes off; they must have thought that the shoes tied to my backpack were my shoes that I had been wearing. I didn't even actively try for that one!) I still don't know what set off that endearing little alarm in the Schipol airport, but I do know that I did get a very thorough pat down, one that I could feel through every layer of clothing I was wearing. Eventually, as they always have in the past, they let me go. And by the time I boarded my flight, I was wearing only my original clothes and had all the extra articles of clothing in a plastic bag by my side. So, once again, I managed to keep my euros in my possession, this time perhaps at the expense of an extra stop at security. And though sometimes when it rains, it pours, in this case, it was just...hysterical. And there was no other way for this trip to end. Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do to make it through.
missy
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