TravelStream™ news feed for member sly.mod on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/sly.mod en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Mon, 06 Oct 2008 17:40:11 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sly.mod/2/1221857580/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sly.mod/2/1221857580/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sly.mod/2/1221857580/tpod.html Mon, 06 Oct 2008 17:40:11 -0400 France, Czech Rep, Austria 2008

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Paris, Île-de-France, France

It was almost like coming home. The cafes, the streets, the smell of Paris, all familiar. We wandered the streets, visiting many famous sites. Notre Dame was wonderful, not only to experience again through my eyes, but also those of my inlaws. There was a famous ice-cream place on Ile St. Louis, a smallish island in the middle of the Seine near the Cathedral. Mike read that this ice cream shop had the best ice cream in the world. We waited in a short line and ate our treaures in the warm sun, on the bank of the Seine. Was it the best ice cream I have ever had? Pretty close. It was worth the walk and the wait. Next we attended a taste fest down by the river, and sampled many wines, cheeses and chocolates. I have never seen so many varieties of pate in my life! Jars upon jars of foie gras and everyone advertizing that they had the best, the freshest, the fattest geese. They were giving away whole bulbs of garlic, champaign grapes, apples, potatoes...too bad we had no use for all those things.

I took the Inlaws to St Michel's fountain and cathedral. Mike struck a pose as his namesake saint. We headed out to dinner, and afterward went to Trocadero to see the lovely lady sparkle. The Eiffel was lit up in brilliant cobalt light, with the bright golden EU ring of stars over the second observation deck. On the hour, she becomes the envy of all else in Paris as hundreds of strobe lights flash and blink and sparkle for about 10 minutes. Yes, it was impressive. We walked back to the hotel and then keeled over in bed. Pure exhaustion took over and I slept well until my body said it was time to get up at 3 am. I managed to catch a little more sleep, but its gonna be a tough day.
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Paris, Île-de-France, France

We rode the RER for free (!) to Gare du Nord, where we opted for a taxi to Trocadero. Upon our arrival, we met Kathy and Mike, just checking in! What a great coincidence! Jerome did his magic again and we got rooms with a view of the Eiffel Tower, which is virtually a 90 second walk from the hotel anyway.

Mary arrived later that afternoon, and we gave her the "Happy 20th anniversay in Paris" gift, along with Bays English muffins, and the Bad Cat calander that she requested. You should have seen her face as she opened her gifts. We bought her a silver lamee dress with a matching silk jacket in bright reds and fuscias, with silver threads throughout. An oriental purse with the same colors, and matching jewelry completed the look. We are meeting for dinner tomorrow night, so we will all be able to see Mary, dressed to the nines in her finery.
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Detroit to Paris, United States

The flight was uneventful. We were in business class and both of us got some sleep! After a champaign welcome, I skimmed the dinner menu and selected the most vegetarian meal I could fine. Actually, there were none, but I found a dish where the meat could be removed conpletely, which of course doubled Brian's portion to his utter delight. Then we slept until 90 minutes before landing, downing a small breakfast of pastries and fresh fruit.
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Amsterdam, Netherlands

In more ways than one! I did laundry in the sink this morning and hung my panties on the balcony to dry...yep. My purple polka dot (No, I am not kidding) pair flew the coop and landed in the gutter. Hmm. I wonder what the gutter-cleaner-werks will think when they run across those?!

I took a nice self-guided walking tour of the centraal district, which includes the centraal station, the Amstel river that they dammed (amstel-dam morphed into Amsterdam) and on to some wonderful things. I passed the Amsterdam flower market, and open stall market right on the edge of a canal. I saw the most fabulous flowershops, bulb shops, marijuana growing kits, Mushroom growing kits, many dried flowers hanging from ceilings, and beautiful things everywhere. Some shops will ship all over the world. I stopped myself from planning my fall garden from here. I dont want to think that hard on vacation. Past the flowermarket was the flea market. Lotsa indian kitsh and stuff we'd see in the seventies. Indian batik clothing are embroidered cloths with with little mirrors> think I better tajme twop empoty suitdases toi- aINDIAN WHEN AI FCINALKLYHVGORR. WHOA, THAT previous sentence had to take a shot at meaning. Too heavy mano.

Walked through the flea market stalls that had leather, batik goods and embroidery with sequins and beads. Tons of justjunk too, like 5 year old used porno tapes. But I learned that people buy then to ship drugs home in. Hmm. Around the canals, I went into the jewish ghetto and the Rembrandts house. Took pic at Rembrandt monument. I also had a couple of pics taken in the flower maarket. The merchants dont seem to mind.

I walked up toward centraal station and bought an Amsterdam city card, which includes museums and transportation. I became rather desperate for a toilet as apparently the koh-i-noor restaurant fueling was needing a pressure valve. Great. PAY toilets in the station. I had to give the guy ten Euro for a 0,05 fee and have a catharsis of indian food returned to the mother earth from the flame that shot out of my backside. Holy spicearoid batman, they should bottle that fuel. I know I stunk the guy out of the booth, and everyone else in the place. So it was just me, flushing the toilet so the porcelain doesnt melt. Centraal station is very nice but the massive over construction going on in the front of it is very distracting and should have been arranged better. Most of the beautiful outside of the station is hidden behind a barrier or plywood, while the inside is very run-of-the-mill, like Gare du Nord in Paris or Waterloo in London. I looked across and there was the Victoria hotel. But I was half an hour early and it was too cold to be standing around, so I slipped into the lobby and hunkered down in the leather chairs til Randy Roy's Redlight tour was to start. Kimberly was a tall, 50 something woman who had a Janis Joplin feel to her. She appreciated humor and laughed easily. SHe knew the red-light district like the back of her hand, knew who was where, what anyone was looking for, and where to send you for your desire. The youngest whores are (supposed to be) 18, and the oldest working one is 85, Nope, no lie. She does 2 or 3 tricks a week and is glad for it. The average girl works 5, 8-hour shifts and rents a window. If she can attract in 20 johns per shift, she would be making 750euro a day. Thats a thousand bucks, ya know.

Families and children live in this district. I heard that when children see the scantily clad girls in the windows, they are told that the girls are waiting for buses to the beach. The red light district is a charming area. Regular family homes flank dens of iniquity. One sex shop shares a wall with an Episcopalean church with the most cordial of relationships. My spin is this interpretation: Since the financial district is on the same intersection as a sex for sale, a brown coffee shop and a church...well if sex drugs, money, and religion can all get along on the same intersection, why is vegas such a hush-hush town? Quentin Tarrantino wrote Pulp Fiction here, many designers have their studios here, many musicians spend time here. Mike Tyson is a fairly regular visitor and Janet Jackson bought her malfunctioning wardrobe here. Eminem and Kid Rock, the Red Hot Chili Peppers and others have chosen this place to hang out. Whitney Houston was the ONLY woman who has ever been allowed into a gay bar called the Cockring. Its men ONLY. And drug-addicted Divas, at least for one night.

Heading back to Centraal, I chatted with a couple as we walked They're in their mid twenties, from AUstralia and are halfway through their one year around the world trip right now. Boy to be that young and that free. I got brave and hopped on a tram back to the hotel. It was nice to sit but those daggone trams are way worse than subway trains. I almost got jerked off my seat twice. Ah the devil's stairs ahead at the Nadia. When I got to the top, Osam, the proprietor said something came for me. He brought in a huge bouquet of fresh flowers and put a sign in them that said welcome home. What a sweet guy!
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Detroit, Michigan, United States

Up, eat, pack, take off. Jerome was supposed to meet up but we begged off, leaving him a bottle of wine and taking a cab to CDG. The flight was overbooked and it was impossible to change seats. We relied on the kindness of others and succeeded in trading seats quid pro quo with a kind Frenchman so we could be together. Such lucky travelers we are.

We were both famished by time we were served a meal and in spite of it being typical airline food, we ate every scrap. The ride home was the pleasantest trans-atlantic flight I have ever had. No screaming kids, no sick people hacking and sneezing all over us, no stinky neighbors, just smooth flying all the way. We watched movies, read, talked, laughed and waited the 8.5 hours as if it were nothing. We breezed through customs without a hitch, even making the customs officer laugh when we stated the countries that we visited independently of one another. My list included France, Italy, and the Netherlands, while Brian's included all of those, plus England, Spain, Sweden and Germany. He looked so puzzled for a moment and then said, "Oh, I get it! You split up and then rejoined!" Bingo!

Our luggage came immediately, we drove home and then went to get the three of the birds and Chessie from mom. Dad, as it turns out, is hospitalized with dehydration and exacerbation of demensia. He is stable, but on Planet X right now. Chessie was beside herself to see me. She nearly bowled me over and would not stop licking my face and crashing all 65 lbs of lean greyhound into me! Since arriving at home she has stayed within three feet of me at all times. The little birds were both happy to be home. WingNut, orbited his cage and beaked all his toys, Moneypenny, ever clingy, pressed her dusty little self into my face and threatened Brian with the beak of death each time he tried to approach. Deaky, nervous as ever, was clearly pleased to be home again and gently ate weaning pellets from my hand. Wow.

Ah, it is good to be home. Thank you all for reading my blog and commenting. I am so glad to have shared it all with you. Maybe at some point, you will be my travel partner and witness the adventures, first hand! I would welcome it!

Love, Sly
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sly.mod/1/1211746980/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sly.mod/1/1211746980/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sly.mod/1/1211746980/tpod.html Tue, 27 May 2008 16:28:18 -0400 Europe May 2008

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Paris, France

Today we were having brunch with Francois, Jerome and Mary. We were told that we had reservations at Mariage du Frier's tea shop and to be there Promptly at 1:30. Mary met us at St Paul on line 5 (she had told us line 11 but I figured it out at Franklin D Roosevelt station, that we were on the wrong line.) Francois and Jerome were late, so we lost our reservation and had to wait in line. The tea house was the most amazing and beautiful shop I have seen! Such a business they do with hundreds upon hundreds of large canisters where fine imported tea is meted out by the gram, as well as jams, confits, candies, tea sets and other items, luxurious. We waited another 30 min and were finally seated in a tight corner. I ordered a round of champagne breakfast drinks that were made from champagne, red Marco Polo tea and hard cider. They were absolutely delicious! Our meals were chosen from a set menu. Bri and I has ouefs sans samon, and vegetables mixte, while the others had fish. We each chose a different tea and tried each others---yum! We has to get up and walk to the chariot du patisse and choose our dessert. Brian had a chocolate tart, I had a mango torte and the rest has a crème brulee in a pastry crust.

Afterward, we walked the wonderful streets, past Notre Dame, and pausing to see a procession of priests and Catholics holding ancient banners from medieval parishes. The priests were singing and hundreds of parishioners were following. We then went to the flower market and on Sundays this included a bird market. I was pointing out the different species to Mary. Finches and canaries predominated, followed by tiels, and a few larger parrot species. One particular baby African grey was clearly sick and far too young to be out in the open market. Brian and I both fought tears as we watched the poor thing suffer alone and cold.

Onward we walked, over the Seine and past shops, hotels, etc. We heard cathedral bells as we navigated the narrow ancient streets. It was so lovely to be out in the sun with our dear friends. We talked and laughed and sent the whole afternoon afoot in the winding streets of Paris. Time to part, it was difficult. It was hard to say goodbye to such dear people. We kissed and hugged and again fought tears as we pre-arranged to meet again in September, God willing. Bri and I again entered the belly of the transport system and I easily negotiated our way back to Trocadero. After a brief stop at the hotel, my husband, who was feeling much better today, wanted dinner. It was raining a soft, warm rain outside and we walked the darkening streets to an Italian restaurant a few blocks from our hotel. I didn't want Italian again and it didn't sit well with me, but our only other choice was French cuisine, which admittedly, neither of us prefers. The wine was superb, the meal quite good, and I then proceeded to lead us in the wrong direction back home. When we reached the Arc du Triomphe ( Which Brian always calls the "Arc du Retreat" outside of the earshot of any Frenchmen) We realized we had walked several block in 180 degrees the wrong direction.. No problem! The night was young and warm, albeit a bit wet, but it made Paris sparkle in reflected light, as we headed back to trocadero. The Eiffel was still lit but now I wasn't feeling well and had to get back to the room. I suffered the same as Brian had saturday, but it was over quickly and we still had time to stand at our narrow window and glimpse the midnight revelry at the glorious Eiffel. We watched a bit of tv (CNN) read a bit, and then fell blissfully into oblivion. Another perfect end to a perfect day.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sly.mod/1/1211659860/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sly.mod/1/1211659860/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sly.mod/1/1211659860/tpod.html Tue, 27 May 2008 16:23:03 -0400 Europe May 2008

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Paris, France

Mary had to work in the morning. We agreed to meet for lunch, which was a great plan because Bri and I caught up on some much needed sleep. We finally got up around 11 am, but Bri was not well. His face was pasty and he was moving slowly. It soon became apparent that he indeed, was getting worse as something he had eaten on his flight in, wanted out. Poor guy! He spent most of the morning in the bathroom, while I found a pharmacie and bought a treatment for him. Fortunately, the medicine worked quickly and I encouraged Brian to drink water. Mary arrived and we ate at a café near the St Michel fountain. It was a nice lunch and then we walked a bit, touring the city with the patient and knowledgeable guidance of my friend of 32 years. We parted around 6 pm and Bri was only interested in a small dinner, then bed. We ate at one of the many Italian restaurants. I bought bananas and bifidus yogurt for Brian. It seemed to make him feel better. He wanted to turn in, but I wanted to go to a party that Mary said was happening in her neighborhood. After reassuring me that he would be fine, Brian insisted that I go to the party and leave him to rest and recuperate. So off I went again on the metro, far to Mary's side of town. As I was waiting for my first train, I was sitting in a bank of chairs far to the tail-end of the station. A very young man came up to me and asked in polite French, if he could join me. I nodded and he plopped down, continuing to speak to me in French. I asked him if he spoke English and he brightened immediately, saying he spoke English much better than French and he was right! He introduced himself as "Jens" pronounced Yens, From Brugge! Well! We had a lot to talk about then, as we waited for the train. By time the train arrived, I had invited the 18 year old waif to come to the party with me. He gladly accepted and began his life story on the train. Turns out he only left home four days earlier, for the first time in his life and here he was, a stranger in a strange land. He was just a lost little boy. His story was compelling, but too long to write here. We met Mary at Metro Stop Jourdain after changing trains again. She walled us up to the bar, where there really wasn't a party, just a group of regulars that she drank with and loud pre-recorded music. Jens was happy and bought us drinks. Mary was very pleased to have Jens there and she provided him with encouragement, as I had been doing all along. Jens was simply a scared puppy that wandered too far from home, too alone. We stayed, maybe two hours. Both Mary and Jens got pretty wasted, but as usual---and I don't know why because I am not a "drinker" I held my alcohol well and didn't even feel buzzed. Mary said it was time for her to go, so we all tottered back down the winding cobblestone streets and dropped Mary off at her apartment, No. 79, Rue de Cascades. On the way, Mary and I admired some roses that overgrew a wrought iron fence and Jens heroically climbed up the wall and picked a few for us. His fingers were stabbed and bleeding from the treacherous thorns, but he was very pleased with himself and said we must keep the roses forever, pressing them in a book so that we can remain friends for life! Silly boy.

Good think I was relatively sober as Jens had completely lost track of the way back to the metro and was turning down every wrong alleyway. Granted it was not a long or confusing route, but he was anxious to get back and I had to keep reeling him in from heading off the wrong way. We boarded line 11 to Republique and parted there. Jens hopped on line 5 and I took 9 back toward Pont du Sevre and Trocadero. It was 1:45 am and I walked over to a practically abandoned Trocadero to see the lovely lady, but she was dark! There were no lights, no sparkles, and I found the Eiffel ominous and menacing against a storm-threatening sky. She did not even light on the hour mark, as she is wont to do, so I walked back to the Hotel Best Western Trocadero, and quietly slipped into a warm bed, beside my sleeping husband. I was asleep instantly.
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Paris, France

My day began early but relaxed, as I had packed the night before. Only my leather daypack was out on the balcony to air out as it had gathered the skunky odor of the coffee shops. I checked out at the desk and asked for Osam. The clerk said he was sleeping but he would wake him if I chose. I only wanted to thank him, and say goodbye, but I gave my message to the clerk and begged off disturbing Osam. I returned to my room to await my shuttle. The phone rang about 15 minutes later. It was Osam, emotional and unwilling to meet me face to face. He said he did not want to say goodbye, that I should reconsider and stay longer, that I was *special* to him and that I warmed his heart each moment he saw me. He said my smile was my secret, and to never stop smiling. He begged me to return, in fact, extracted a promise from me that I would return, and in response, offered me a room any time, even if the hotel was booked. ( I wondered if her meant *his* room...LOL!) He said he could not face me nor could he watch me leave as he was too emotional and could not control his tears. I didn't know what to say, except to thank him, wish him well and wonder about his emotional nature, vs. hangover or pompous flattery. I guess with all the sodas and candy he crammed into my backpack each morning as I began each day, and with the special delivery of an enormous bouquet of flowers to my room, I tended to believe the Kenyan really did have a crush on me. He said he would miss our hour-long conversations at the end of each day, my cheerful countenance and that I has stolen his heart and he could not bear to see me go. He begged me to come back soon and to keep in touch by email. I was about to promise anything to stop the man's tears over my phone. Wow. I was overwhelmed myself!

I set off the metal detector in security at the airport and got a thorough patting down and feeling up by a female security guard. She was *very* thorough, even going underneath my bra and into the cavernous folds of my breast and cleavage to uproots contraband or metal. Hmm. The flight was way behind schedule and I feared missing my connection in Munich. I had to run, as we arrived so late I had only 8 minutes to get aboard the flight, 33 gates away from where I stood. Yep, I ran. Landing in Paris it was one of the worst landings I have ever encountered. I nearly bit my tongue off with the slamming jolt. From what I could tell, there was simply no reason for this. The sun was shining, the sky was clear and we were all looking at each other over the smack down we had just experienced. I found the trains and bought touriste passes for Brian and me. They were expensive and the woman behind the window was less than helpful when I didn't understand her French. She kept yelling the word "backward" at me, when what she meant was to turn my ticket over and sign the back. I ruined the ticket-folder in my efforts to appease this witch and she disgustedly handed me another folder throwing up her arms, unable to control her negativity. I had enough of her and I abruptly grabbed the new folder and decided to figure it out myself, which I did easily and without her shouting "backward!" at me anymore. She acted as if I were the stupidest creature on the planet. She should consider another line of work if she doesn't have the patience for tourists.

I took the RER into Paris where I transferred to line 9 and on to Trocadero. There she was, the Eiffel tower, only 200 meters from me as I emerged from the metro station. I was taken aback by my proximity to the great landmark, and I stood dumbfounded and breathless. Gathering my wits, I looked around and instantly saw my hotel marquis. I was greeted politely but given no assistance in schlepping my bags to my tiny room. Now all I had to do was wait for Brian.

I walked to Trocadero and viewed the tower, disappointed that there was construction in front of it and it obscured the bottom. Returning to my room, I elevated my swollen feet and ate the remaining soggy pizza in my tote bag, that I had the night before in Amsterdam. I still had some of Osam's candy, but was not in the mood for sweets at that time. I decided to go out and buy some wine and food for Brian, knowing he would be hungry and tired when he arrived. I found a small grocers that was just closing, and I rushed in to buy some Bordeaux, but found nothing suitable for him to eat. They were pressuring me to make my decision and finish so they could close the store, so I paid for the wine and left. Walking a bit further down Raymond Pontcare', I spotted a small pizza shop and discovered that they would remain open until 11 pm. Bri should be here about that time, so I kept mindful of the location and returned home for another 2 hours to wait. When I returned, I was having difficulty communicating to the pizza baker that I wanted cheese and ham, but no mushrooms, completely forgetting the word "champignon" and unable to describe a mushroom by gesturing.. Another customer came to my rescue, a train-stopping gorgeous man, about 30, with shocking dark hair, dark eyes and one of the most beautiful faces I have ever seen in my life. I know I stared at him as he offered his assistance, me, blinking like a schoolgirl and barely able to communicate whatever I was thinking. He kindly told the pizza baker to forego the mushrooms and bid me farewell as his pizza was done, and I awaited mine. I watched him walk away, grateful for my Brian, but envious of his youth and beauty, completely beyond my reach. Or not so! As the baker boxed my pizza, I bought a blood-orange fanta and began the three block walk back to the hotel when I heard, "Madame! Madame!" from somewhere just behind me. I stopped and turned around, and there was trainstopper, smiling and hurrying to catch up to me. He still had his unopened pizza box in his hand. He said that he missed the company of English speaking women and (originally from Montreal) spent 4 years in the USA which he loved. He asked what I was doing in Paris and I told him I was vacationing, and that one of my best childhood friends lived here. I told him I try to get to Paris at least once a year, sometimes twice, to which his expressive eyebrows disappeared into his voluptuous hairline! He said, "So I hate to eat alone and my apartment is just right here," as he gestured directly across the street. I apologized and told him that I had plans, but he persisted, "Please, you are here for a few days, yes? Come and ring my bell and visit me. I am the third button from the top," and he pointed to the panel on the side of his door. Oh be still my heart! this hunkalicious dark stranger wanted me to call on him!!! My ego went over the moon with that one!

Walking about 3 feet above the sidewalk, I returned to my hotel and asked the night clerk for a wine opener. He lent me his own personal one and asked that I return it immediately. I went up to the room, put the pizza on the ottoman, opened the bottle and headed back down to the clerk. As soon as the elevator doors opened on the main floor, I was greeted by the smiling face of the only man I love. I nearly bashed into him as I impatiently waited for the elevator doors to open. I let out a loud squeal and embraced my love with laughter and gratitude. I nearly threw the wine opener back at the clerk, said a quick, badly-pronounced merci boucou and squished myself into the elevator to take my Brian up to our room. He was so grateful for the pizza and wine. The only thing missing was candles...oh well. They were burning inside each of us!

I told him about hunkalicious and he laughingly agreed that I still had my magic, in spite of the ravages of middle age and weight. Hee hee! We peeked out the window at the glorious Eiffel tower, in her golden, nighttime splendor and were soon asleep in each others arms.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sly.mod/1/1211494440/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sly.mod/1/1211494440/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/sly.mod/1/1211494440/tpod.html Fri, 23 May 2008 03:20:20 -0400 Europe May 2008

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Amsterdam, Netherlands

Osam rang me at 10:30 am, telling me the sun was hot and I should be out in it. I slept little during the night, so I had an early breakfast and went back to bed. I'm glad Osam woke me. I had things to do...

I went first to the post office, to send a final postcard. THIS time, instead of selling me a 0,92 Euro stamp, the clerk charged me 1.20 euro and place a large sticker over the zipcode. I was annoyed that she placed the sticker there and wearily took the card back to re-write the zipcide so it could be delivered. She said, "NO! You *mustn't* take the card from me. It remains here now!" I told her that she *mustn't* cover the zipcode or it will be undeliverable in the USA. She glared at me when I re-wrote the zipcode below her stickerwerk. I was puzzled and asked her why I could not buy a stamp and mail it on my own. She cast baleful eyes at me and whined that stamps are only sold in books of five. That is very odd. The other day I bought 12 stamps---from the same place. Hmm. I then went to the fotoshop to download my datacard again. Deja vu. Same shop, same datacard, same instructions and *more* photos to download, yet today it cost me 5,50 euro and three days ago it cost me ten euro. Hmmm. I dont get it.

I next went to the docks in front of the Victoria HOtel for a 90 minutes harbor cruise. It was part of my "I Am Amsterdam" card, which in retrospect, turned out to be a rip. I could not figure out the trams ( and I am fairly proficient at that ) the buses only ran at night, the canal buses didnt go anywhere I wanted to be, and the few perks I got from the card would have been best paid for independently. I would have come out ahead. I will tell people in the future, to forego the *I AM Amsterdam* card unless they are going to be endlessly taking advantage of the specific sponsors. THe cruise was longer and better than the canal cruise I took a few days ago. I saw the "modern" AMsterdam and got a much better perspective on people who live in the newest part of town. DINKs are the only ones that can afford the modern apartments and it is prestigeous to do so. In the middle of the tour, the tourguide became very excited and pointed out that we would be skirting around a large barge with a backhoe on it. They were pulling bicycles out of the canal. They claim that there are a million bikes in Amsterdam. Ten thousand bikes per year are stolen and dumped into the canals. Eventually they pile up so as to obstruct water traffic. The man operating the backhoe would plunge it into the water and pull up bicycles. Lots of them. They became a monumental pile on the barge. There is a saying that you buy your first bike, you steal the rest. People ride very plain-jane beat up black bikes. Druggies steal them to get their money, and often throw them into the canal if the police get close, or they dont sell them by the end of the day. Also, the guide told us that dispite the foot-high barriers on some canals, the city has to pull 70 cars from the canals in an average year. Bummer!

After the cruise I walked through the red-light district again, and bought a ticket to tour the Erotic Museum. It was cheaply done, with a few valuable artifacts, but mostly framed copies of oriental erotic art that I had seen before. There were some photos from the 1800s that I found both amusing and deeply disturbing. Many of the photos had to do with spanking, oral sex or menage au trois, but one in particular had children in it---obviously made for pedophiles. Sad. I guess that has been going on longer than my brain wanted to admit. The ticket was only five euro and that is about all the tour was worth.

I had tea at the Waag, which is historically the 15th century city gate. It is a large castle-like building that used to be the only way in and out of the city before they dammed the Amstel. Service was slow, and I gave up on ordering dinner and instead walked back to Dam Square. I found a pizzaria where I was shown to a small table near the back. A group of four college age boys were just over my left shoulder and they clearly thought that I could not speak English! OMG the things they discussed, as young men, thinking they had the privacy of their native tongue. I heard sexcapades, drinking stories, who they thought was a jerk among them, who saw the best hooker and what they would like to do with her, and on and on. I could barely keep my composure and twice I had to fake coughing to prevent my cover from being blown. The funniest thing was also the most bizarre pick-up line I had ever heard. Apparently one of the young men was at a frat party and got so drunk he blacked out. The woman of his fancy was there, and in his effort to woo her into his bed, he said to her, " I would like to condense your farts and drink them." I about died. I finished my pizza and flagged down the waitress. The boys were still completely oblivious to me and I decided to play a joke. I told the waitress to put 4 beers on my tab and serve them to the boys when I left. Then, I pressed a note into her hand and told her to give it to the boys after they get the beers. I wrote on the note: I have been enjoying eavesdropping on all of your conversations. Thank you for the perpective! and I signed it, "Your mother." I left the restaurant and waited about 5 minutes. Then I returned, but stood outside and asked to speak to the female waitress that served me. SHe came out and ran over to me, asking "what did you write on that note?!" When I told her, she laughed merrily and said, "No wonder they all went pale and said OOHHH MYYYYY GAAAAAAWD!" Now it was my turn to laugh.

Back to the Nadia, I dropped off my backpack and lightened my load to just a small purse and my camera. I took a leasurely walk and had dessert at a Pancake Restaurant in the bottom of a canal house. The architecture was amazing and I got a good lesson on what these houses are built on. Hand hewn 12" to 14" SOLID beams crisscrossed the ceiling down here and supported four stories straight up. I ordered the dutch pancake but the cherries were gross and the Kijafa must have been old. It kind sucked. Snapped a few more pics on the way back to the hotel, and began packing to leave in the morning. After I was in my room for about 30 minutes, I heard Osam ask the night clerk if I had returned and how long ago. He used good judgement in not disturbing me.

I am lonely for Brian. I scratched out a few lines of poetry to express what I was feeling;

AMSTERDAM WE'LL MEET AGAIN

There's so much more of you to see
The Oosterkerk, the Zeider Zee,
a one-way fare to Paris in my hand.

Oh Amsterdam I cannot stay~
It is my heart I must obey.
My true love waits within another land.

I walked your streets, I felt your sun
I heard your bells when day was done.
I wandered by canals ablaze with lights,

And evenings in your twilight gown
with sirens singing all around
I cant deny you made me love your nights.

T'were it your charms that filled my need,
then callings I would never heed,
and spend my days and nights with more to yearn.

But one who matters beckons me
and I wont go reluctantly--
God willing, beside him, I will return.

TAS, 5/22/08
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Amsterdam, Netherlands

I started out the day with a trip to the Rijksmuseum (state museum) and viewed a huge collection of the Dutch masters, the most impressive being Rembrandt's Night Watchers. What a great place. I took the English guided tour and was glad I did. From there, I walked to Vondelpark, the largest park in Amsterdam. It was beautiful and HUGE. The entrance was a simple walkway with a few reminders to stay OUT of the way of people on bicycles, that no motorized vehicles are allowed in the park, and that sunbathing is encouraged, but nude bathing is prohibitted. People were lounged all over the place, sleeping in the sun, relaxing on a bench, riding bikes, walking. It went on forever. Some buddhist monks were begging along the way, recognizable in their saffron robes and bald heads. Next came the Krishnas, with their shabby bohemian bastardization of a sari with high top tennis shoes. Their long braids and percussion instruments dancing away in the sunlight. All of them, caucasian young men. One guy was dancing about handing out free (said tongue-in-cheek) paper cones of water, then pestering the recipient for money while the others beat their tamborines and frolicked around the unwitting drinker.

Then, I heard them before I saw them. It was unmistakable. It was so darn familiar...that song! That characteristic cackle... QUAKERS!!! My head jerked upward and there they were, flying through the air! A flash of green, a loud argument, another flash of green...The monk parrots played in the trees and chased each other around the park. I was elated as I walked out and toward the Van Gogh Museum. But wait, what is this? A PINK VESPA!!!! I was halted in my tracks. It was true. I was not hallucinating! It was a pink Vespa! A real one~! I took four pictures then called Brian immediately, telling him that someone else in the world has my taste!!!! Hee hee!

I made it to the Van Gogh Museum --which is much smaller-- and took the nickle tour of the place, stopping a a few Van Goghs that were familiar. I also learned that Van Gogh and Gauguin were friends, and I was treated to a nice sampling of Gauguin as well! Lucky me! I was disappointed, however, that the home of Van Gogh has so few of his paintings here! Almost all of the most famous were all out on loan, and "Night Stars" ( the one I have in my livingroom) is in New York. Ironic eh? Anyway, I remember seeing Starry Night at the Louvre 2 years ago. Would have been nice to see Night Stars, but I guess I will have to go HOME to see it. LOL. I did see his famous Irises, and one of the sunflower ones. There were several self-potraits and some copies of Dutch masters that he did to practice. All in all, I was disappointed.

Next, my day got very interesting. I got caught a nightmarish vortex on the tram! First, let me say that the trams in AMsterdam are not intuitive, and are an extremely difficult transport system to figure out. Even the official transport map is less than helpful and difficult to read. I found that a cheap courtesy map from the Hotel went further in my understanding of the tram than anything *official*. Nevertheless, I learned a painful lesson today... and that is: Just because you *think* you know what direction you need to go, doesnt mean the tram headed that way will actually take you there. I kept hopping on trams and in a few blocks, they would be heading the diametric opposite direction I needed to go! SO I would hop off that tram and get on the concurrent line, heading the opposite way. No luck. That tram, even though I seemingly came from that direction, would also head off on some wild-mouse path and I would again find myself going past the same street-corner again and again and again. I wasnt stoned. This bad trip was for real! After 45 minutes of musical trams, it finally dawned on me that all I had to do was sit on my dupa til I got to Centraal station. From there, I knew which tram to take back to the Nadia. Then I only had to jump one more tram to get safely back to the area I knew. OK, so you think it all went smoothly from here? When I finally got myself on the correct tram line, the daggone thing broke down and everyone had to vacate the tram. AAAAAAAGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!! I uttered an explative under my breath, gave up on the trams and walked where I needed to be.

I returned to Westermaarket ( my area ) and went to the Anne Frank House. No wonder I could not find it on my own. I dont know what is going on there, but the whole front of the house is covered with scaffolding and wrapped in construction canvasses, so nothing is viewable from the front. Nothing. The house itself is totally engulfed in a modern building and only the front (the part curently covered with canvas) is remotely recognizable from the outside. I was standing right in front of it and never knew it. I politely asked two women where the Anne Frank House was and they initially stared at me like I had three eyes, then burst out laughing and apologizing. You see, I was less than three feet from the door of the house and never knew it. That is how hidden it is. Anyway, the women were not so cruel as to leave my cheeks burning unabashed, and they absolved me by saying how many tourists ask the same question in the exact same spot I stood. Wellllll, that told ME something!

You enter through a corner alcove which looks like any office building, pay the fee and then start the tour. I never got a feel for the layout of the house because its been terribly distorted by the *business* of making it a museum. However, I will say that after seeing how they lived, I have to give Otto Frank a lot of credit for preparing the annex in which they hid, and having been the kind of boss that would command life-threatening loyalty of his non-jewish enployees. Without Meip and Bep, Otto's secretaries, they would have parished immediately. I also wondered why I could not find a single relic, or postcard depicting Anne Frank anywhere else in Amsterdam, and then I found out that the entire Anne Frank House is a privately owned enterprise, still to this day following the directions Otto Frank left. Everything is copywrited and no one can use Anne Franks image without permission. Otto Frank desired that all furniture remain out of the house forever, because the nazi's took it. I would rather have seen it furnished according to the descriptions provided by Otto Frank, Meip and Bep. It was way too difficult to imagine how they were situated until I saw a fully integrated miniature of the house and annex. It was nothing as I had imagined. I thought all 8 of them were huddled in one or two rooms, but that was not true at all! It was two to a room on three different levels! Still, I think the museum has been turned into a poor depiction, difficult for the average person to grasp. Its almost tragic, the way it could be (the home as it was on the canal) and the way it actually was...a tarnished jewel.

It was 8:45 pm when I emerged and decided I was starving. I passed the Homo Memorial with its three pink marble triangles and bouquets of flowers. Interesting concept and location, right around the corner from the Frank House. A nod to tolerance of all people, I suppose. I walked a wee bit to photograph the beautiful Nadia Hotel (Osam, the owner has spoiled me to death!) and I ran into a young Austrian (Vienna) woman who was also photographing the Nadia. I pointed out my balcony to her and we began chatting away. It all culminated with her writing down the best way for me to get from Vienna to Prague, what busline to take and how much the ticket will cost. Since I am on my way to Vienna this September, her help was much appreciated. By 9:45 my only hope for a meal was the Koh-I-Noor again. The thought was a bit scary since it took such revenge earlier this week, but it was that or raid the vending machine back at the hotel. I took my chances with Koh-I-Noor. The waiter remembered me and asked if I wanted the same meal I had two days before. How the heck did he remember?! Wow! I thought he was jerking my chain so I asked him what I had and he repeated my whole meal verbatem. OK now I was impressed! I ordered something else and then began chatting it up with this guy. He was full of information and questions, and we had a great converstation. He asked me my planned route and then intiuitively knew that I was on Lufthansa airlines. He said that Lufthansa was a good choice, and to avoid Easy-Jet and RYANAIR! I laughed and relayed my RYANAIR story. He rolled his eyes and laughed. Apparently, more seasoned travellers avois the cattle-cars (Ryanair and EasyJet) for the more sophisitcated, larger airlines. I ate til bursting again, having only had breakfast and a chocolate bar that Osam gave me free from the vending machine. Back to the Nadia, I huffed and puffed my way up the devil's stairs to find Osam, smiling and waving. He said, "You have been gone almost 12 hours, my friend. Please take a bottle of water and tell me about your day." We talked about all the stops I made and then we bagan to discuss the history and engineering of Amsterdam, herself. Osam was a textbook fo knowledge, which he shared enthusiatically. He told me of the sub-sea-level areas and what used to be the sea. He told me of the engineering marvels of the Dutch, that ONESCA is considering adding the canals of Amsterdam as the 8th wonder of the world (compairing the engineering to the Great Wall and the Pyramids.) I could have talked all night with Osam. He catches me offguard with his generousity and helpfulness. I keep thinking there is something ulterior going on...can the Dutch really be this kind?
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