Amster to the dam, son.

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Originally uploaded by Lady Rachem

Well, I made it back alive from Amsterdam. What a city! I enjoyed it thoroughly, and about a zillion times more than Rotterdam. I'm sure a lot of this had to do with the fact that I went with a big group (eight), and that I was with people who knew where they were going. Have I mentioned that I have no sense of direction? Because I don't. I absolutely could never travel alone. I don't remember where anything was in Amsterdam, and I couldn't even tell you which way we turned onto the street out of our hostel, but it doesn't matter because everyone else could and I had a great time following them around on an imaginary leash.

We were sure not to do anything too scholarly or morally commendable on our first day. We walked around the city for a very long time, toured a sex museum (I only took one picture, and no I am not posting it), and made our way through the Red Light district while it was still afternoon. It is very strange to walk past a window and see a woman in lingerie peer at you through the glass, a red ambiance hovering above. It is even stranger to make eye contact with said woman and give her a nod and a smile, as though she is your next-door neighbor that you're passing on your morning walk. Which of course is what I did.

Later that Friday we hit a coffeeshop, and here is where my recollection of the night's events gets a little hazy. Amsterdam's coffeeshops, of course, do not sell coffee, but instead sell pot, in lots and lots of different forms. One of those forms is called a space cake. I helped myself to this little treasure. Now, here I am going to give you some free advice: If you have no experience with pot, make sure you ask someone how much 1 gram is BEFORE you consume it. Because when you ask later, when you've already finished? And it turns out that 1 gram is a whole effing lot? There is nothing you can do to prevent the world of TOTALLY BAKED that you will soon be facing. And then you will spend hours upon hours in a zombie trance, being guided from bar to bar by a certain wonderful R.A., until you somehow make it back to your hostel, take off your pants, and fall asleep to self-as-broken-robot visions.

So, uh, no more pot for me for a while, thanks.

Saturday morning we all got up and attempted to make up for our sins by paying penance at the Van Gogh museum. I am a Van Gogh fan and it was pretty awesome to see, up close, several of the works we studied in art class last year. However, I have very little museum-stamina, and after about half and hour I was getting pretty restless: Yup, here's another Van Gogh. Wow, look at the impasto. Look at the wheatfield. When's lunch?

Side note: Why do people who stand behind me in lines insist on RIDING MY ASS? Can't we have a little space between us? Do we really have to spoon through this entire exhibit? I tried to evade this one lady by skipping a few paintings in order to put some distance between us, but wouldn't you know, she would catch up with me and go right on rubbing her fanny pack all over my butt. Thanks for that.

Later we went on a canal cruise, which made me sleepy, and then to a bar, which made me drunk. Alcohol does magical things to me: primarily, it transforms me into an attention-whoring extrovert. I think I made a memorable impression on everyone in our group. Of course, in my head, that impression is, "Wow, Rachel is so funny and great when she loosens up. I hope we can be best friends forever and ever;" and in reality it is probably, "Wow, Rachel is kinda obnoxious when she opens her mouth. Uh oh, she's gonna jump in the fountain. Oh good someone stopped her."

Sunday morning we packed our junk and got in the massive line for the Anne Frank house. We finally got in, and, meh. I'm glad I went, and it was moving being in the house that I have imagined so many times, but I guess I just didn't expect it to be so museum-ized. I was looking for something a little more raw, and instead I got huge crowds and quotes on the walls and glass displays. Oh well. It left me wanting but I'm still glad I went.

Side note: Is it bad to be so selfish in these museums? I feel a little guilty about my complaining, but isn't it really about the individual experience? Ugh, who knows. It is getting a little late for this kind of contemplation.

We headed to the train station, leaving two of our potheads behind so they could hit one last coffeeshop. After a two hour ride we got on the bus, and after another hour of travel finally made it to Well. But, our bus driver was kind enough to miss our stop and refuse to pull over until the next one, so we were treated to a free long-ass walk back to the castle. We made it, eventually, and were heartily welcomed by the church bells and the rabid geese and the toxic-waste moat. Ah, Kasteel Well. What would I do without you. Probably get a decent night's sleep, at the very least.

Exhaustedly,
Rachem