Berlin ::: Day 2 ::: Berlin Wall

My first full day in Berlin has been rainy and cold. I took the subway to Potsdam because it seemed like a central enough place to a lot of historical sites. Once I exited the subway, though, I was drawn alien abduction-style to the mothership when I saw a shopping mall. The rain was picking up, which is how I justified choosing commerce over culture.

I'm sick to death of the few clothes I brought with me, but nonetheless, I showed a considerable amount of restraint. I walked out with a new t-shirt and travel sized bottles of shampoo and such. Sadly, the Germans must not use travel sized portions of conditioner, though.

I have to think carefully about how much trouble I am willing to endure when making new purchases. For example, I might have to wear every article of clothing with me, if I feel I can't live without a life-sized replica of the Manneken Pis. By the end of my trip I'll look like Joey in that episode of Friends when he decided to wear all of Chandler's clothing to get back at him for hiding his underwear. And I'm not willing to go there... yet.

After shopping, I decided to experience some history. I walked down to Checkpoint Charlie. Checkpoint Charlie is one of a few border crossings between East and West. At the intersection of Zimmerstraße and Friedrichstraße there are panels that illustrate the journey from the building of the wall to it's eventual demolishing, and it memorializes the many people who lost their lives trying to cross from East to West.

From there, I walked to Topography of Terror. This is where the headquarters for the Gestapo, Reich Security, and SS High Command were located and oversaw their National Socialist program of persecution and annihilation in the '30s and '40s. They're now creating a documentation center on this plot of land that documents the history of this site. It's currently an open-air exhibition and has a section of the original wall still standing.

I then followed the cobblestone path of the Berlin Wall as best I could to the East Side Gallery. Here, the largest section of the wall still stands, where artists from all over the world have painted sections of it to celebrate the demolishing of the wall.

This is probably the same revelation that everyone who visits Berlin experiences, but I'll say it anyway. I was blown away by how recent the struggle over the Berlin Wall took place. It came down just 20 years ago. Within my lifetime, people were like prisoners here and were being shot for attempting to cross from East to West. And now I'm here, visiting this city, without a care in the world. No wonder my new German friends are so politically aware. How can they not be. This country has had some shit to figure out in recent decades.

So with that, my day of Berlin Wall history is complete, and I returned to my hostel with a good case of the sniffles from being out in the rain all day.

Travel Day: Berlin

Took the bus into Berlin yesterday. It's a 3-hour trip and cheap, so I decided to save up my expensive Eurail Flexipass for some longer train trips that I have coming up.

Checked into the Pfefferbett Hostel, my first real hostel experience sharing a room with strangers. Last night I shared the room with an Italian couple and a fourth who I never met. Tonight... who knows.

Hamburg Photos

I guess I didn't take many photos in Hamburg. I was too busy having fun. Next time...

Skate park behind the squat in St Pauli.

Some apartments along the harbor in St Pauli. Same general area as Plan B. I believe the signs are pertaining to the election that happened on Sunday.

Tunnel that goes under the harbor.

The view from the other side of the harbor is actually more interesting... You can see huge ships and cranes for loading and unloading cargo. Sadly, I only have photos of the non-industrial side of the Hamburg.

What's left of an old church that got bombed in WWII.

Street sign in St Pauli, just outside of a kiosk (liquor store). Here you can straddle a line where glass bottles are legal and illegal. Beyond the sign is the Reeperbahn, where the nightlife is in full effect. I guess people tend to get stabby with broken bottles.

Hamburg ::: Days 2, 3, 4 ::: Whatsupdontfart

I spent the last 3 days (September 25-27) in Hamburg with Izaak and his friends. It was crazy fun.

We didn't do much of the tourist stuff because the people I got to know hate the tourists. Instead, I got to hang out with regular people in Hamburg and be a non-tourist for a while.

We spent a lot of time at Plan B in St Pauli, a hip neighborhood undergoing / resisting gentrification, which is also home to many of Izaak's friends. You can find many bars, cafes, cool shops, cool people, prostitutes and Hell's Angels here. And it's very close to the harbor and fish market.

Plan B is a housing project in St Pauli that Izaak's German friends Lars and Manny built. It's not a housing project like we think of them in the states, though. From what I understand, if a plot of land is sitting unused in Germany, citizens can take the land, and the government will pay 80% of the building costs to put up a housing project.

The first floor of Plan B is a spacious and welcoming apartment that about 12 people and a couple dogs call home. The exterior of the building is painted from corner to corner with a giant "NIEN" in green and blue. The ground floor to the first is covered in graffiti, and everyone throws their trash on the street outside (and it gets cleaned up each night). Some faux laundry hangs outside Lars' balcony.

I thought it was strange that these really awesome, intelligent people would make their street look so junky, especially considering that the interior is nicer than any apartment I've ever owned. But Lars and Izaak had an explanation ready. Through gentrification, the neighborhood is becoming more "spießig,"  meaning "bourgeois" or "yuppie." This means that the regular people living here won't be able to afford living here for much longer. And so they intentionally make the neighborhood look unattractive to make it unappealing to the upper classes, hopefully slowing down the process of gentrification. Totally brilliant and a perspective I had never considered before.

This is also a culture that is very politically active. They routinely riot, about things I really don't know anything about. I guess some Nazis still exist here, so obviously, that causes a major confrontation. But also, people protest over things like the gentrification of St Pauli and the attempt to close a nearby squat. The squat contains artist lofts, a free bike shop, and a skatepark. This was a building that was sitting unused, so regular citizens just decided to take it over and make something useful out of it.

It was very fun and interesting to get a young person's perspective on what it's like to live in Germany, where "everyone over the age of 65" is a murderer. Not my words, but it seriously came up in conversation.

Some other super fun things that happened:

Friday:

Walked around town with Izaak, seeing the sites.

Watched bike films on Friday night with a bunch of bike nerds (my favorite kind of people) at Plan B. And then Robin spent all night trying to replicate the bike tricks in Lars' room, on the street, and in the bar.

Played ghetto gambling, which I'm going to teach everyone to play once I get home. Or maybe I'll pick up some dice and make new friends in my next hostels.

Izaak coined a new phrase: what's up don't fart. Very confusing to the Germans, but gets some good results.

Rode a tall bike for a fraction of a second, got scared and demanded that Izaak get me down. Then we drank in the bar across the street until dawn.  

Saturday:

Rode around St Pauli with Lars and Izaak on a borrowed fixey. We snuck into the hospital and went up to the top-floor balcony, which has the most amazing 360 view of Hamburg. A giant concrete Nazi bunker in the center of town can be seen. It still exists only because it is too expensive to tear down.

Saw P.O.S., a hip-hop artist from Minneapolis, at Hafenklang. Played thumb-wars with him in the middle of his set. Lost. And then lost again 3 more times later in the evening.

Drank several Astra beers, which nobody told me are like 8% alcohol by volume. So I went back to Plan B and passed out, while everyone stayed at Hafenklang and went to the fish market at dawn.

Sunday:

Recovery.

Travel Day: Hamburg

Nothing too exciting to report from yesterday. I travel the trains like a mofo now. Although, my first connection was 30 minutes late, so I missed my second connection by about 1 second. If I were quicker mentally I could have seen the train to Hamburg just in front of my face and thrown myself on board, as the doors were closing. I would like to do that once, but sadly, this was not that time. Instead, I watched the doors slowly shut, the train pull away, took a deep sigh as two and two finally came together, and then I waited an hour for the next train to Hamburg to come.

My friend, Izaak, was waiting for me at the Hamburg central station. I actually just met him officially this past summer, even though we possibly had some classes together in college and we overlapped employment at the same ad agency for a time. He lives in Hamburg now and is acting as my official tour guide.

When I got in last night we dropped my bag, checked out the free methadone clinic (kidding, but there really is one here), picked up a couple of beers and went on an unofficial walking tour of Hamburg. You can drink on the streets here, so that's cool. We stood in the middle of an old bombed out church from WWII. Checked out the harbor and ate some fish sandwiches. And then we admired the anatomically correct "undercarriage" of a centaur. Crazy Germans.

Amsterdam ::: Day 6 ::: Dikes

Did you know that God created the world, and the Dutch created Holland?

'Tis true. 60% of the land in Holland is man-made. Much of their land is very flat and fertile soil because it was at one time the bottom of lakes and the sea. By building dikes (including one of the largest dikes in the world), they reclaimed this land for agriculture.

Much of the reclaimed land is used for dairy cows. The land is very good for them, and they make a very fatty milk, which is good for cheese.

Yesterday I went on a bus tour of the Holland countryside, where I learned these and other dike and non-dike related facts.

In the Zaanse Schans windmill village, I saw a demonstration on how to make wooden shoes. Which the Dutch actually wear. I always thought they were a silly decorative thing. In fact, these shoes are like the steel-toed boots of Holland. They protect the feet and keep them very dry.

Next, we visited a cheesemaker just outside of Volendam, where we saw many dikes along the way. We got a cheesemaking demonstration, and then we tasted the many varieties of cheeses.

We walked through Volendam, a fishing village. The regional dish of this village is smoked eel. That didn't sound too appealing to me, so I went instead to get a Heineken, after watching a 5-minute video on dikes.

Lastly, we boarded a boat to Marken, a very quaint little fishing village. On the boat I met Iacopo from Florence, who was also on the tour with his friend. He's the first Italian I've met, and hopefully not the last, assuming, of course, that they're all as attractive as him.

We walked through Marken on the way back to the bus, looking at the many quaint wooden houses. On the bus back to Amsterdam, we saw many more dikes around Marken. In fact, Marken was once an island, until they connected it with dikes.

The Dutch really like dikes, and now I do too.

Amsterdam ::: Day 5 ::: Haarlem

Yesterday I took the train to Haarlem, just outside of Amsterdam. It's like a cross-between Amsterdam and Brugge. It's missing the throng of people and all the coffeeshops of Amsterdam. And it's smaller, like Brugge, but with a fraction of the charm.

Still, it was nice to get out of Amsterdam for the day. I walked around Haarlem. Found the windmill along the main canal, where I also saw an old pirate ship pass by. Unfortunately, I wasn't quick enough on the draw with the camera on that one.

My lunch was incredibly good. I went to Bagel and More. I got a plain bagel, sliced in half, with a thick slice of warm goatcheese and honey in the middle, sprinkled with rosemary and pine nuts. I could probably eat that every day for the rest of my life and never get sick of it.

After that I did a bit of window shopping. I discovered that Chuck Taylors cost 65 euros or more. Considering that they go for $45 online, those would be the most expensive Chucks ever, once you factor in the exchange rate, if I were to buy them here.

Just as I was heading back to the train station, the sun finally came out, so I decided to follow-up my two espressos and bagel lunch with a Heineken out on a patio in Haarlem's main square.

Later, I went to the grocery store and discovered food for cheap. A can of Coke in Europe ranges from 1,50 to 3,00 euros! In the grocery store it costs 0,50 euros. So I pulled together a feast for cheap, and spent the evening watching old episodes of Two Guys, a Girl and a Pizza Place in my room.

Dad, here's your Jaguar, with whitewall tires even, just how you like! Would have gotten a closer shot, but a bride and groom were about to get in.

Here is a very small fraction of the bikes parked outside the Haarlem train station. Seriously, everyone bikes here. There are hardly any cars.

Amsterdam ::: Day 4

I'm quickly losing interest in Amsterdam. Too many people here are messed up or just plain weird.

It was funny the first couple times I encountered people too high to see reality correctly. Like when this old British biker dude was freaked out by a pigeon that only had one leg. Except, of course, the pigeon clearly had two legs. So that was funny. It was comedy. But too many people are like that here and it's lost its novelty.

A bizarre too-skinny Dutch boy on way too many drugs asked me yesterday if I wanted a new special friend. I'm assuming he was talking about himself, and no. NO. I do not want any new special friends, especially not ones that look like him, talk like him, or would randomly approach me on the street with that ridiculous question. I kept walking, and I heard him say, "Think about it." Like I'm totally going to mull that one over, change my mind, come running back and invite him out for a coffee, so that we can talk about the many things we clearly have it common.   

Later, I went to Vondelpark with a stack of postcards, hoping to write to my friends and family. I am seated on the grass in the sun, listening to my iPod, with pen in hand. This apparently means, please, come talk to me.

A 63 year old Italian man decides to stand a few feet from me and provide me with a monologue about his life. He tells me how many books he's written and which universities have accepted his papers. He says he has a son he's never seen, except from a distance, because he didn't want to be bound by the flesh when he was younger (his actual words). He showed me the "tapestries" he purchased today. He tells me about the San Francisco woman he met in Vondelpark with whom he exchanged letters, poems, and leaves (wtf??) for 10 years. He says that he is reading an essay that he is so impressed by that he is copying it verbatim in his own handwriting. And it goes on, without the least bit of encouragement from me. I was and still am just completely dumbfounded and amazed.

So, sorry, nobody is getting a postcard anytime soon. Because just as he left, Diego showed up. I didn't really feel like seeing him again, but I made the mistake of telling him where I would be. I think he took my friendliness over the past couple days as flirtation, and I spent an awkward time in the park and walking around Amsterdam with him, trying to politely discourage his great affection for me.

That feels like a terrible thing to do, and seemed very passive aggressive on my part. But how do you tell someone who doesn't speak English very well that at 5'7 there is no way in hell that he possesses the strength necessary to lift me over his head while I am in a perfectly horizontal flying superman position, ala the final dance sequence in Dirty Dancing, which is #19 on my list of requirements if one wishes to date me.

Once Diego left me to return to his friend's house, I decided to go see a movie. Exhausted with trying to bridge the language barrier, I craved hearing some American English. I saw Funny People, which was good.

Just before the movie, I really wanted to knee the ticket taker in the groin for the number of times he turned me away. The movie started at 21:00. I got there 20 minutes before, as is common in America, but he says the theater isn't seating yet. 10 minutes later, he allows a mass of people to enter, and so I think surely I must be able to take my seat now. Not so. From the time he last rejected me and exactly 21:00, hardly anyone went through those doors, and yet, when I finally got admitted to my theater, it was practically full. So I guess I'm not smart enough to understand the intricacies of movie theaters in Amsterdam. Or he was just being a dick.

Last gripe about Amsterdam: The bikers greatly outnumber the cars in this city, which is very cool, except that these bikers never stop for anything. I was almost hit by a biker going 20 miles an hour down a crowded street yesterday. Diego pulled me out of the way just in time. He took great pride in this, and started grabbing me anytime a car or bike approached within 30 feet. Maybe if I was Hellen Keller this would be fine, but I'm not, so it wasn't.  

Apparently I had my crabby pants on yesterday. I'm sure today will be spectacular.

Amsterdam ::: Day 3 ::: Shopping and Getting Stoned

Today I went to purchase a (clean) shirt and a jacket (because it's cold) at H&M. I considered also buying a pair of Chuck Taylors to wear with the skinny black jeans I purchased in the Philadelphia airport, in order to be allowed a first class seat. The Chuck Taylors combined with the skinny jeans might actually make me look like I "fit in" here in Europe. But I also don't want to be a poser. So it's a conundrum that I'm hoping one of my hipster friends will chime in and help solve for me.

And since that clean shirt will no longer be clean tomorrow, I struck out in search of a laundromat to wash the handful of clothes I brought to Europe, that I so cleverly figured out how to wash in a French laundromat in Paris. But haven't washed since Paris.

After much searching, I finally found a laundromat exactly one block away from my apartment, after I had already given up on trying to find a laundromat. So, tomorrow morning = laundry.

At 6:00 I met up with Diego to go out for drinks and dinner. Diego is from Argentina, so we decided to go to an Argentinian Steak House. He is very impassioned about how much he loves meat and how much he misses all the good Argentinian beef. The meal was good, but I didn't have the heart to tell him that we have better beef in America.

After dinner we went to a coffeeshop, ordered another beer, and purchased a joint. It's the first I'm smoking in Amsterdam, and the first he's smoking in 10 years, or something like that.

After maybe 1/3 of the joint, Diego left to get some air. A couple minutes later I heard the sound of a table flipping over on the pavement and had the vague notion that someone just face planted outside.

I turned and looked down the length of the coffeeshop, thinking, "Please don't be him, please don't be him."

And when the bouncer picked him up, I thought, "*sigh* It's him."

Being the girl that every once in a while gets in trouble, and has good friends to bring her out of it or look the other way, I collected myself and went to handle the situation, as they admirably would. (Which means I also did not forget to put the rest of the weed in my pocket on the way out.)

Diego was sitting on the curb, glass of sugar water already in hand from the bouncer, and looking bewildered. I asked him if he was ok and if he needed to go. He said in his awkward English, "That might be best."

I let the concerned bouncer know that I was responsible for him and went back in to grab our jackets. I've known him probably a grand total of 7 hours, spent with him over the course of 2 days. But what the heck. As I too consider my friends, I'm a nice, admirable sort and he's in a strange city, literally stoned to the point of passing out.

Ironically, this is exactly why I waited to go to a coffeeshop until I had made a friend here in Amsterdam. I totally thought that would be me.

I had "him" "walk me" across town back to my apartment, so that I wouldn't be alone, and then I put him on a tram back to his friend's house. I hope that wasn't rude. But c'mon, he needed the walk to sober up, anyway.

Amsterdam ::: Day 2 ::: Van Gogh Museum and Making Friends

Yesterday I spent the early part of the afternoon wandering around trying to find the Van Gogh Museum. When I found that I spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around it.

I only took one photo all afternoon. It was of the I Amsterdam landmark. In doing so, I met Diego, from Barcelona. We exchanged cameras and took each others photo. That's me standing by the fountain, but you would hardly know it, I'm so far away.

Diego and I got to talking. He is staying with an American friend that lives in Amsterdam with his Dutch wife. I agreed to meet up with them later that evening for a beer.

Later, Diego and I were too engrossed in playing pool, and missed his friends' calls and I never met them. The pool game came down to just the 8-ball on the table. I won, but I hardly call it a victory. We were terrible.

Travel Day: Brussels, Den Haag and Amsterdam

I left Brugge yesterday morning around noon, and caught the train to Brussels Centraal. Since I had to get off in Brussels to get on the next train headed to Den Haag and Amsterdam, I figured I might as well have a look around. So I put my luggage in a locker, stepped outside the train station to the center of Brussels, and was completely underwhelmed.

I've never been to Detroit, but I imagine it's about as exciting as being in Brussels. For being in the center of Belgium's largest city on a week day, the streets were completely empty. Office-park style buildings surrounded me, and I thought for sure I somehow traveled through space and time back to the Midwest (not to say anything bad about the Midwest -- it's home).

I wandered about for a while trying to find the Manneken Pis fountain, what Brussels is most famous for, except for maybe the carpet of flowers in Grand Place that I think is only created every couple of years in the Spring. And, to be fair, the buildings that make up the Grand Place square are actually quite lovely and historic looking, and nothing at all like something you would find in Detroit.

The Manneken Pis fountain is a small statue of a cherubic little boy peeing. You can guess which part is the fountain. And, get this, they dress him up in little outfits. They have a whole schedule posted on when they will be changing his wardrobe. I got there just in time to see them redress him, which drew quite a crowd of spectators.

So I grabbed a Bel Pils beer, the local brew, in the Manneken Pis Taverne just across the street. Then I stepped in a couple of the dozen shops that line the street with Manneken Pis souvenirs to marvel at the tackiness.

I almost picked up one of these Manneken Pis corkscrews, but couldn't justify spending 7,50 euros on something I probably won't get through airport security anyway.

After spending a couple of hours in Brussels, I got back on the train with the thought of staying the night in Den Hagge (The Hague). It's by the sea, and I thought it might be nice.

From my walk between the Den Hagge HS station and Centraal, I tried very hard to find something appealing about this city. But it was unattractive and not at all exciting, much like all the people I saw loitering in downtown Den Haag. This place made Brussels look like a dream come true. I didn't even make it down to the water, I just got on the next train leaving for Amsterdam when I reached the Centraal station.

When I got into Amsterdam, I could tell right away that this is where the party is, and that I would probably have a tough time finding a room. Luckily, across from the station there is a hotel finding service. My 50-60 euro price range gave the girl a pained look, but after just one call she said she found me an apartment to rent for 70 euros a night.

I walked a couple blocks to the aptly named Budget Hotel Tourist Inn, which handles the accommodations. I'm not sure how they're affiliated, but I pay cash to the off-duty front desk guy, who shows me the place located 2 minutes from the hotel, gives me the key back at the hotel, and then hands me a fresh set of towels from the hotel linen closet.

The entrance to the apartment is located between a bakery/deli and a porn shop, and is up 2 sets of narrow winding stairs that remind me of the bell tower in Brugge. It's a studio apartment with bathroom, big comfy bed, refrigerator and coffee pot. And it's located pretty much dead center, first ring, a couple blocks from Amsterdam Centraal station. I'm pretty sure I lucked out on this one.

Brugge ::: Day 3 ::: Biking

Yesterday I rented a bike, and spent the day exploring. Brugge is a fairly contained city. It is adjacent to newer sections of town, but it's very obvious when you're leaving the protected historic part. I kept mostly to the bike path that surrounds historic Brugge.

I picked up a new book, The Picture of Dorian Gray, put the remainder of my strawberries in a bag, and headed to find a sunny spot. I hopped off my bike when I found a nice green hill, empty of tourists, that had a windmill at the top.

When I sat down on the grass I was immediately joined by a white cat that came running across the field as fast as he could when he saw me. He wore a collar that said, "This is my boss." He was certainly demanding, so we hung out for a couple of hours while I read. Mostly he slept curled up against me, and I was glad to have the company.

Later in the afternoon, I went back to Dumon chocolates to pick up the walnut variety that is super tasty. If you can picture a pudgy girl with chocolate all over her face and a guilty expression, that is me right about now.

Best meal I've had in Brugge: my dinner yesterday was Croque Madame. It is a toasted sandwich with a slice of thick-cut ham and cheese in the middle and a giant sunnyside-up egg on top. Yum!

Even their bike path indicators are cobbled.

Hotel Nicolas, where I spent the last 2 nights.

Dumon chocolates. Also, just discovered my camera has a macro setting. Get ready to see things up close and in focus!

Market Square Bell Tower

Some video from the top of the bell tower, so that you can hear the carillon.

I think this was special to market day because the bells didn't stop for a very, very long time. The 47 bells were being played by a man at an organ-like instrument. You could peek in at him about midway up the tower.

Brugge ::: Day 2 ::: Climbing the Bell Tower, Eating Frites, and Channeling Forrest Gump

On my second day in Brugge, I joined 6 Americans (2 of them Canadian) for breakfast in Koen and Annemie's dining room. It was filled with awkward silences and pauses, but nonetheless, it was good to be with people from home.

The B&B didn't have a room available for the remaining 2 nights I wanted to stay in Brugge, so I headed out in search of a couple hotels nearby that were closer to my price range anyway.

I checked into Hotel Nicolas, just off of Market Square, the most tourist-heavy part of Brugge. For 50 euros a night, I ended up with a king size bed (free upgrade because of a carpet shampooing incident in my original room) and some pretty nice accommodations.

The hotel is run by a young couple that always say "See you later," when I'm done talking to them or just passing through to get to my room. It makes me smile. This is also where they live, so it feels a lot like being a guest in their home.

Later in the evening, I had brought a bottle of wine back to the hotel, and had been drinking it out of a plastic cup. After they had been through to make the bed today, they replaced it with a real wine glass. Maybe that's normal, but it seemed like a really thoughtful gesture to me.

Later in the morning, I climbed the bell tower up some very narrow spiral staircases. Luckily, every 100 steps or so, there was a landing where I could gasp for breath and pretend to look at the mechanics of the bell tower on display.

At the top, I enjoyed several minutes of the view of Brugge and the carillon playing, until 50 Dutch school children in navy jackets, pants and jumpers packed me against a wall, furthest from the exit. Their assignment appeared to be locate all of the historic monuments in Brugge and generally see how uncomfortable you can make the tourists.

After squeezing a path through 50 heads a foot shorter than mine, I made it to the exit and began the perilous spiral decent. Apparently taking me as their leader, I was soon joined by 50 school children following in a single file line behind me, marching down the stairs, swinging their arms, and singing an ominous "DUN. da DUN. da DUN duh dah DAH DAHHH!" and other times a more light-hearted circus theme song "Doo doodle ooo do do doo doooo."

I assumed this was normal for Dutch school children to do and had nothing whatsoever to do with me slowly and cautiously picking my way down the stairs, so that I don't accidentally pitch forward and sumerssault down the remainder of the 366 steps, likely taking out several other tourists presently on their way up.

Just outside the bell tower are a couple of frites (fries) stands, where I ordered Frites Speciaal, which comes with ketchup, mayo and onions on top. This is a mess. And totally disgusting if you meditate on what it is exactly that you're putting into your body when you eat this. But when in Belgium... eat as the Belgians do.

I was joined on a bench by 3 men from Brussels (also ingesting equally disgusting concoctions of frites and "sauce"). They were very nice, and spoke excellent English, as everyone in Belgium seems to do. Although, one guy did all the talking and translating because the others felt their English was too poor, even though they were more understandable than most American citizens.

They invited me to drive to Amsterdam with them and their friend from Moscow, who was presently checking out the Dali exhibit next door. I declined politely, letting them know that I wouldn't be headed there for another few days. I can't even begin to imagine what that road trip would be like or what I would do in Amsterdam with 3, make that 4, older men. I was tempted to find out. But, don't worry, Mom and Dad. I wouldn't in a million years get in a car with 3 strange men and a Russian.

I spent most of the rest of the day just wandering around town, generally by the canals. I fed some swans the last of my horde of yummy ginger cookies that I took from breakfast. And later found a dozen more swans.

I picked up some fresh strawberries and raspberries in the market that sets up in Market Square on Wednesdays. I ate them by the canal, and watched boats packed with tourists drive by. The strawberries were perfect. All I had to do was pop of the top.

Lastly, I quite literally had a Forrest Gump moment, where I found myself sitting alone at the end of a green bench, feet planted on the gravelly ground, and eating a box of assorted chocolates that I held in my lap. When I realized this, I laughed out loud, and startled some tourists who must have thought me insane.

Arriving in Brugge

When I arrived in Brugge, I spent some time wandering around the train station trying to find the tourist information area (closed). I then wandered around outside, consulting various maps and bus schedules to see if I could figure out how I might get to where I'm going (I could not). So I did the unthinkable and got in a cab.

I arrived at Koen and Annemie Dieltien's Bed & Breakfast. I rang the bell, Annemie answered, and I inquired about a room. Lucky for me, there had been one cancellation and the couple she promised it to had exceeded their 30-minute holding period.

We sat together in the dining room, filled out some paperwork, and she instructed me where to go to get a good dinner that did not involve a lot of tourists.

The house was homey and lovely with great artwork, wood floors, and steep spiral staircases. It being on a quiet street, with a handful of visitors, this was the best night of sleep I've gotten since arriving in Europe. I probably could have slept through the entire next day, had it not been for breakfast being served at 8:30 and checkout being at 10:30.

As it got dark out, I wandered around town, which was very quiet. I found a restaurant along the canal for dinner, and I tried my first local Belgian beer, the Brugse Zot.

Picking my way back along the canal, I found 2 swans swimming, like brilliant white beacons against the black water. So beautiful!

It being long past everyone's bedtime at the late hour of 9 pm, I wandered around Brugge practically alone, and did some window shopping. Amongst the lace, chocolate, souvenir, and year-round Christmas shops, there are actually a lot of great clothing and accessory stores. Two H&M stores on a single street. I hardly think that's necessary, but then maybe I misjudged Brugge. Perhaps this is the mecca where everyone in Belgium comes to clothes shop.

Since coming to Europe, it feels as if I've been going at a steady pace of 100 miles per hour. Being in Brugge put on the brakes, and kicked me back to a slow 5 miles per hour. It's lovely here -- a beautiful old, cobble-stoned city with fantastic window shopping and canal gazing that you can shuffle along and enjoy.