Things I Learned in Amsterdam

(MH)
1. The Swedish chef is not that far off from how language sounds 'round these parts.

2. It's never a bad time for delicious Indian food; shout out to India for knowing something really important about flavor.

3. Waterways inside cities make me really happy. As does the ability to travel around and through a city on a boat.

4. Never tell the 22 year old Iranian Dutchman, Ali, at the bar that you are 28. He will think this is a hilariously old thing to say. He will also imply that you have a bad sense of humor because you didn't get his joke about San Francisco. Something about video games? ...

5. Do ask to get into the VIP-only high schooler party with the hip hop music busting out the doors. Do not expect to get in. Amsterdam's youth are picky about who they party with.

6. Cities built according to people scale feel different than cities built according to a car's scale. The cars are what's out of place here and the bikes rule the roads. It's not only that it's slower; it's that "pleasant" is ridiculously uninterrupted.

7. I can walk a city with a 25 pound backpack on my back.

Amsterdamn Good

(JP) Well, thus concludes 2 days in Amsterdam as we head to Schipol Airport en route to Milan. And I must say, Amsterdam is nothing short of blissful. But it's a startling calm, so immediate and breathable that you wonder if someone's tricked you into such a relaxed way of wandering. The trees rustle ever so lightly, softly protecting the canals that traverse the city throughout. It's the water among the urban, the corporate suits atop bicycles, all these seeming contradictions to the American sprawl that make it both ahead of its time and wholly unique in its blend of the modern and antique. Not antiquated by any stretch however; on the contrary, the Dutch have shown me just how incredibly far ahead of us they are. Sad, too, when you think that New York was settled by these very ancestors. With the same names, same colors, and similarly diverse to my surprise. But, as Mon put it just an hour ago, we are clearly the 'country cousin'..the relaxed, gentle sophistocation of Amsterdam is most certainly something we have yet to tap into.

A river runs through it, but we all but crawled. There's nothing to rush to, and there's hardly a sense you'd ever get lost (in the bad sense). Aside from the ridiculously good indian we ate last night, the highlight was being told we were the 'first Americans' 2 local students had ever seen in their favorite bar - De Geiter. Somehow, we managed to get away from ourselves! We found my holy grail - the locals' spot to hang. Ollie and Ian made small talk, asked if we knew Long Island, and pointed to the gazillion expired student drivers' licenses that line the ceiling above the bar. I tried to order a Heiny (I'm in Amsterdam after all), but bartender said 'Grolsch" gruffly in return, for that was the only beer one can buy there. So, I echoed his scornful command and seconds later tasted a much tastier beer than what we're dealing with on the other side of the pond.

Shout out to Mikey Scheer and the entire DTF crew. Not only did I find a sticker of his, I doubled its presence on one of the hidden alleyways in town. And now, Italia. I will miss this lightness of being though, as well as the stellar museum curation (both Anne Frank's hideout house and Van Gogh's setup are extremely visitor-friendly and informative). I will miss the dancing lights on nightime waters. I will miss never being honked at by bikes over bridges. I will miss it all, until the next time - because a return is surely due.

Saturn and Cantalope

(MH) Hi Jo! I'm glad you got on both your flights okay :) I'm waiting for you in Amsterdam, comfily settled in at a computer and actually you should be landing in five. This is after only a brief hiccup with the customs dude: turns out, I am my father's daughter. He *always* used to get stopped at customs. Big dude, thick curly black hair, darker beige skin, deep set brown eyes with marked undereye circles, and a healthy black mustache. Hell, even I sometimes thought he looked like a terrorist...No, I didn't. ... Yeah, okay, I did. Nah nah, just kidding. Or. ...

I also got to realize on my flight to Amsterdam that I experience an acute sense of panic when surrounded by white British men in business suits. Go figure. It's either colonialism's ghost that creeps me out or the acrid combination of repression, sharply-scented soap freshly scrubbed, cigarettes and tea. Whatever it is, yilg and good riddance.


And funny you should mention Mercury, cause at Heathrow, I was thinking -- again, obviously -- about Saturn. And how I've always been sure I hated cantalope. But in the proper middle of the Saturn Return I've made it a habit to reevaluate all long-held, even dearly held certainties.(Google it if you've never heard me or someone else pontificate on how important the Saturn Return is and how *essential* it is to take advantage of Saturn's energy especially then -- this means you, if you're between the ages of 27 and 29 -- even if it hurts, espeeecially if it's hard.)

For example, apparently I now love beets and sauteed kale. Like really, really love them in a way I could not have anticipated given previous fear and indifference, respectively (and given my notorious stubborn streak).

(I'm a little hungry with all this produce reminiscing and hope Johanna gets here hungry too...)

But cantalope. So I had a fruit salad while waiting for plane number 2 of the day and it had cantalope in it. I think you know where this is going: I not only ate it; I kinda dug it. I love that we can still always surprise ourselves. Thank you, Saturn.

[Important sidenote: The cat on the plane from Boston next to me was definitely reading Kafka. I thought, what a dark choice for traveling. The copy was brand new, bought special for the trip. He'd filled out his white visitors' card: not British, but staying at least a little while. And his Birkenstocks were new -- maybe to match his just-so disheveled curlies and his perfectly uncoifed (sp?) beard. Ethan or Evan or Aaron or Ian, I thought, Kafka? Not that I should feel quite so free to judge. I brought school books with me: Twain and Diaz. But let's be real: I think I've never quite believed anyone read Kafka for actual leisure. Maybe the old habit of mini-judging anyone earnestly (the new ironic) toting Kafka is an old habit even Saturn can't touch.]

PS: Re: my previous post's title: Right. So. Turns out the saying's about cats, not pigs. Jo told me at brunch yesterday and few thousand miles west. My child-of-immigrants shows most in my inevitably botched-up execution of colloquialisms. Whoopsies. (I hold "there's more than one way to skin a pig" sounds better. Furthermore, I'm no skinning expert, but I bet it's truer, too.)

Jo, are you here yet? I'm starting to crave pork and cantalope...

If You Want to Make Mercury Laugh Tell it Your Plans

(JP) The beautiful Boston wedding wrapped. Brunch this morning was lovely. Dan's driving our planned-out selves to Logan and we're sighing and laughing like champs. Then, I pull out my itinerary only to find my brain had opted to remember Mon's departure time better than my own (we're on different flights). "Uh, guys. My flight's leaving in 50 minutes."

Right. So, in true Mercury-in-retrograde form I've already managed to miss a flight. Now, I'm on the next one out. Mon's en route. Remember my type-anxious stature? Well, it's hunching in puke position right about now. But, here's hoping for enough time to take a peek at Munich as my new stopover.

And I'm pretty sure I and the asian guy next to me are the only minorities going to Munich. Hey, at least I've got a friend while Mon waits patiently for her lame friend to get to Amsterdam.

God-willing, we'll laugh over this and a beer in due time.

Essentially Speaking

(JP) Ah, the Essential. Haven't seen that in God knows how long. Not when you cling to New York City - the ultimate staycation, and thus, something you can never truly rest within. The hustle, the bustle, the gum on your heels. The pedicure, the haircut, the laundry all still undone. And everytime it is done, it's for that cause -- the "event" of the weekend (although even the notion of ends to weeks is flipped on its head in this urban abyss). Nothing ends. It's all just beginning! And whatever you're doing downtown doesn't compare to up, Brooklyn had to wait because the UES was jumpin'. Somehow, we're in the center of it all and always still missing out.

So when you are blessed - especially in these days and times - to finally achieve some escape from the colossal jungle that is this town, the stress that goes along with it is nothing short of an abomination. Who submits to such a thing?? Stressing about vacation! Then why even take one? Where are you not when you keep panting and pining over the to-do that didn't get done? Well, you're in New York. Or you're in the Bay. Or you're just wherever you've been long enough to forget that getting away is hard; staying away nearly impossible; but if you can somehow trudge through the anxiety of grand planning, what you see at the peak is surely essential indeed.

That ever-elusive stillness. That sound of silence that hasn't hit my ears since sitting over a desert chasm in 2001. The hugeness of the world, which within these grey lines I cannot fully sense as I once did. That foreign feeling of not being needed in the place you left behind; but rather supported in your little venture, ideally missed, perfectly let go for a time. If only I can do the same.

Elsewhere truly is a Saint. So let us pray: That a type A-nxious planner remembers to pack her best eyes, her best ears, and her best heart. That these little things so big fall away for all that's bigger. That I forget who I am and let the world remind me who I'm not.

Still can't believe I didn't get my haircut for this.

Skin a Pig -- Packing

(MH) I like putting things that don't fit next to each other. It's a not so secret obsession. When I'm planning for a trip -- like the one I'll start tomorrow -- I make sure to leave all my errands until the last minute, make sure I have plenty of work to rush haphazardly through, make sure my room is a mess and needs vacuuming, make sure my linens all need a good washing, make sure the dry cleaning needs to be picked up, make sure I play an appropriate number of board games and sing at my local piano bar. All before I begin to think about what I should pack.

I think this packing tactic has actually made me an amazing packer and traveler. My credit card statements -- with their evidence of hastily taken cabs, missed-flight charges, and last minute (and mid-trip emergency) purchases -- might want to tell a different story. But when's the last time I listened to anything my credit card statements had to say about my choices.

It's the suddenness that becomes of the leaving moment, I think, that helps the travel. The furious flurry of a day and a half in which I'm forced away from my more comfortable and comforting thinkingness, then forgotten into the strange empty buzz of the airport terminal, when I start settling into the kind of quiet I like to travel in, where I get to really see Essential again.

It's noon. I'm leaving tomorrow night. I have a sushi lunch date in fifteen minutes (I haven't showered), a potential work date this afternoon to finish up my oral exam list drafts, a date with the gym around four, a dinner and movie date tonight, a late breakfast and wedding planning meeting (someone else's; don't get it twisted) tomorrow, a sushi dinner date tomorrow just before catching the red eye. The laundry's in the dryer. My room is a mess. I have several errands to run. I've edited this post a few times and might once more later.

And at some point, I suppose, it will have to happen that I pack.