Nikki was the keeper of the cheese after the tasting, what a surprise.
Amsterdam was such an adventure.
We had been "on the road" for 12 days. Our hair was a little stringy, our eyes were a little droopy, our wallets were a little thin, and by the time we arrived in central Amsterdam, our tempers were a little high.
Luckily, we met up with three good friends from our program, Katrina, Monica and Bree. These gals live together, and have been fun cafe companions and classmates all year, we were happy to see some friendly faces after two weeks.
Our first night was their last, so we met at Starbucks (in the train station, the ONLY one in the city!), and proceeded to a cafe for some drinks and fun.
The gals happened to mention that they took the "free tour" that many cities have begun to offer tourists. The ad boasts that the tour is free, and that the guides get paid only on the tips program go-ers give.
A FREE tour! How excellent!
The next morning, bright and early, we reported to the tourism office to see the whole city in just under 4 hours.
The tours were offered in English and Spanish. We met our English speaking guide, Ghert (pronounced "yurt"), and let him lead us deep into the city for our first stop, The Red Light District!
There were about 40 people in our group, most of them UK citizens. We spent about 20 minutes trying to decide where we thought Ghert was from. He sounded very American, but there was a different edge to English we just couldn't pinpoint.
He had mentioned to the group that the guides only gave tours in their native language...so his must be English, but he was so clearly not British or Australian, his accent was notably American.
When we finally asked, we were shocked to learn he was Portugese.
The son of Dutch parents, his family had moved to Portugal right after he was born, and put their kids in an American school...which is where he learned his American accented (yes, we have accents!) English.
When dear Ghert found out we were from California, he was thrilled to tell us he had just finished an internship in Santa Cruz. It is so lovely to meet other young people who love traveling and being abroad as much as we do. It automatically bonds you in an unexpected way.
Also in our group was a darling English guy (is their any other kind?), about our age, and his Russian wife. They had just purchased a car and were spending their newlywed days motoring around Europe, finally ending in Russia to visit her parents.
They asked us all kinds of questions about the States (as most English people do, it's so funny), and we were delighted to tell them about California and our time in France. People always comment how lucky we are to be in southern France, after they make a crack about the French and their attitude.
The tour was amazing. Ghert knew more about the city then I do about practically anything. He was so informed, and clearly loved Amsterdam, and Holland passionately. He expressed that with all this fun anecdotes and desire to share all he could with us about the history and current news in the city.
We ended the tour with a true Dutch specialty, a huge sausage thing with mashed potatoes. It is evidently a very traditional Dutch meal, and it was de-lish! I was a little hasty to try it, but so glad I did!
At lunch, we sat around with Ghert, the English-Russian couple, and a few other nice English families. We got to more candidly ask Ghert about his life, and how he came to be in Amsterdam. It was a splendid way to end the afternoon.
That night, we went to a few pubs and clubs to see what all the night life is like in famous Amsterdam. We ended up meeting three boys our age (how convenient!) from New York, and in town for the weekend for their friend's birthday.
So, that's what its like to live on the East Coast! You can fly to Europe for the weekend! How lovely.
The morning we were set to leave was the closest the gals and I have ever come to a true disaster on our travels...and to think it was in our LAST city on our LAST big trip.
I had asked Sarah to hold my camera the night before, as I didn't want to bring my huge purse to a dance club. She agreed.
The next morning, as I got out of the shower, I noticed a camera that looked exactly like mine in the bag of one of our Spanish bunkmates.
Huh.
The thing about my camera is that everyone has it. My current roommate has it, along with about 10 others in my program. It's a popular camera. Since I think most people are basically honest, I thought it must be hers, so I pushed it out of my mind.
So there we were waiting for the tram about an hour later, I asked Sarah to get my camera out of her purse so we could relive the day before.
A questioning look crossed her face as she said those fateful words, " I don't think I have it."
Panic set in as my heart began to race, and I instructed everyone to dump out their purses and search.
Horror made its way into my facial expression as I realized we didn't have it.
There were over 300 photos from our beloved spring break trip. I am the designated picture taker (at least of photos with people in them), so everything that meant anything was on my camera.
The picture of the silver Canon in the backpack flashed into my mind.
That bitch.
" I know where it is," I said as calmly as I could, dropped my backpack, and told the girls I'd be right back.
I ran back to the hostel, yanked the door open, and ran into the room we shared with 8 other people. "Does anyone speak English or French?" I practically screamed at my hostel roommates.
"What's wrong?" A girl asked in a heavy Spanish accent.
" I lost my camera, and I think its in her bag," I said, again as calmly as I could, considering I was pinning some stranger of stealing!
The gal muttered something in Spanish after her friend translated my accusation, methodically reached into her bag, and pulled out my camera.
Knowing I didn't have time to lose it, I turned to my interpreter, smiled, and thanked her.
I ran back to the tram stop, pleased with myself for getting it back. I turned it on, and panic again set my heart sprinting.
The black screen read ominously, 'please insert memory card.'
WHAT?!
"Hold on guys," I said to Nikki and Sarah as I again dropped my backpack and jogged back to the hostel.
"Where's the memory card?!" I asked my original interpreter, hoping she would ask her friend.
After about a 3 minute exchange between the girl and her traveling companion, the bi-lingual Spainard turned to me, and embarrassingly admitted the following story:
My friend saw your camera lying out, and wanted to steal it, but she knew you were on a trip with your friends, and that since you are American, had travelled a long way to get here. Before she put your camera in her bag, she took the memory card out of it and put in your friend's bag, so you would have your pictures. She just wanted the camera.
How touching... NOT.
I worried myself sick on our train ride home that we would never find the memory card in Sarah's huge backpack. I even shed a few tears somewhere between Brussels and Paris...those pictures were the only thing irreplaceable from our trip, and if they were gone I would be crushed.
Well, I'm sure you know how the story turns out, as the pictures are all over Facebook and my blog. Sarah came over about an hour after we got home with the card and huge smile. I thanked the Lord that we made it home with everyone, and everything.
Spring Break was amazing. It was the most exhausting trip of my life, but so worth every dollar, euro, and wrinkle it may have added to my forehead. I am so grateful for Sarah and Nikki, and the friendship that we have formed this year. I couldn't have done it without them. We are so lucky to have each other.
Honorable mention must also go to my parents, who didn't bat an eyelash when I way overspent (and overdrew) on this trip. They are so supportive, and I am so glad God sent me to them. I am sure they constantly roll their eyes at my dwindling bank account and extravagant travel plans, but they continue to provide unconditional love, support, and funds transfers. I love you!
