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How we almost died

by Janelle

One of our alleged “friends” told us, “Oh, if you’re going to Amsterdam, you absolutely MUST ride bikes there!” So Georgia, Vivienne and I headed to the bike rental near us in anticipation of a leisurely ride in the Dutch countryside to Zaanse Schanse -- some famous windmills. Gerald wisely decided to meet us there via public transit.

The bike rental had 2 kinds of bikes: Dutch, and Other. The Dutch bikes were single speed, high handlebars, and appeared to be manufactured sometime in the 1960s.

The Other bikes were similar but had 3 speeds. We opted (up) for the 3-speeds.

I tried to lift my bike to turn it around, but it wouldn’t budge. Why not? I finally realized it was the elaborate, medieval assortment of bike locks. One lock clamped down on the back wheel like a giant handcuff. The other was an enormous chain weighing about 70 pounds, with a padlock that weighed another 10 pounds.

Obviously, safety is a big concern in Dutch cycling. -- Safety of the bike, that is. No helmets were available, and almost no one in Amsterdam wears one.

After a brief 15-minute lesson on how to work the locks, we were on our way.

We were excited for a Dutch cycling experience. All over Amsterdam, we’ve seen miles and miles of completely separate lanes for bikes. Separated from car traffic, cyclists are free to ride without fear.

Or so we thought. Before getting to the countryside, we had to ride through Amsterdam to get to Centraal Station, where we would take a short ferry to the north. I had my phone/navigation system in my jacket pocket. The pocket was zipped shut so the phone would not fall out. This significantly muffled the audio, but that didn’t matter much when the navigation would helpfully tell me, “Head northeast” and “In 600 meters, turn left onto Vijzerslansldjansfoeistraat.”

But we had our very own bike lane, so at least I could concentrate, right? Wrong. 50 million Dutch people on bikes were sharing the bike path, many of them also texting, giving a lift to a friend or a couple of kids, drinking a coffee, or reaching to scratch a tough-to-reach itch at the same time.

And despite the fact that their bikes plus lock system each weighed at least 500 pounds, they were moving FAST. So, no -- the bike lane was not the calm respite from car traffic we’d been anticipating. It was worse. Far worse. At parts, pedestrians tried to cross right in front of us, at annoying crosswalks that were surely designed with the sole purpose of adding yet another challenge to the biking experience.

After several wrong turns and near misses, we managed to make it to Centraal Station, aka Swirling Soup of Human Transportation. Utterly shaken, we walked the bikes through the masses and managed to get on the ferry (with 10,000 other people with bikes).

As we headed north, crowds thinned, and we could finally enjoy the countryside. With a stiff headwind and the 300 pounds of bike and lock we were carrying, it took us 3 hours to travel the 9 miles to the windmills. That is to say, we could have walked it.

It was an absolutely beautiful ride, and totally worth it. We saw goats, cows, windmills, charming Dutch homes and farms, and lots and lots of greenery. When we were a couple of miles from our destination, we started smelling chocolate and baking in the air. “Lekker” as the Dutch say, meaning “yum.”

We met Gerald at the windmills after spending 30 minutes locking up the bikes. He had brought us huge sandwiches on baguettes, which we ate on a wooden bench overlooking the gorgeous scenery.

We skipped the museums and tourist shops there for lack of time and interest, but noted that a chocolate biscuit factory tour must have been the source of the delicious smells in the air.

On our return we had the wind at our back, which should have speeded the trip, but somehow only took off half an hour -- still 2.5 hours for the 9 miles home.

When we arrived back in Amsterdam, bike traffic was even worse. Although we did still want to survive, we were also kind of rushing because the bike store closed at 5:30. Turns out Viv had a collision with another cyclist, which I missed because I was ahead and it was noisy so I missed hearing her screams. Bad mom. And Georgia nearly collided with a truck on one of the few sections of road where bikes and cars ride together.

Shaken and rattled, we pulled in to the bike shop precisely at 5:29, and resolved not to ride bikes in Amsterdam again.

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Canal Tour

By Vivienne

Amsterdam has more canals than Venice, and we decided we could not go to Amsterdam without at least one canal tour. Julie, (mom’s friend who was in Amsterdam), found the perfect tour; a tour with drinks included. Shout out to Julie for treating us all to an amazing tour!

We got on the boat with about fifteen other people and went around the canal listening to stories about the buildings surrounding us.

We first passed by these iconic crooked Dutch houses. If you look closely, you’ll see that they lean a bit to the side.

Dad, Jan, and Julie, (from left to right), all had some beer to wash down the sights we saw.

Our guide, Ruben, told us the story of this nearly sunken house boat. At the gay pride parade, a girl who was house sitting the house had a party in it. She invited too many people in, and they were all partying when the police came and told them the house was going to sink. People began to leave, but not quickly enough because after 15 minutes, the water began to flood it.  The family who actually lives in the house is still on vacation, and will have to come back to a sunken house.

Georgia and I loved the tour. Ruben gave us one tip that we all laughed about. The Double Tree hotel is very expensive, and you can pay to go to the roof and look out at the view. He then told us that you can go on the roof of the public library and get the same view for free. Nice!

After we got off the boat, all the ladies wanted a picture with Ruben because they thought he was cute. Dad got a little jealous and decided photobombing was the answer!

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World Dog Show disaster

by Vivienne

I love dogs, and at the World Dog Show, there were thousands of them. (33,000 dogs to be exact; that’s the human population of Menlo Park in dogs!)

Mom’s friend Kari brought her curly coated retriever, (a very rare dog bred from Lithuania), named Bee.

We all arrived at nine am to make sure we were there to cheer Bee and Kari on when they went.

Here is pic of Bee and Kari. Bee is actually one of the most people friendly dogs I’ve met. All 80 pounds of Bee will jump up on you, and kiss you. It’s quite an experience, especially if you are used to little dogs.

For any dog, a 15 hour flight is painful and scary. Poor Bee was still shaken up over the flight, but after a ton of petting and loving, she was almost back to her normal self.

Maybe being her normal self wasn’t the best idea at the moment. Although Bee is people friendly, she is not at all dog friendly. Any dog she sees that she thinks might attack Kari or any one of us, she barks at and tries to yank away from Kari to go fight the other dog.

By 10:30, Bee still hadn’t gone. Mom and I took a walk around and took some pics of dogs:

Here are just a few of my favorites.

By noon, Kari still hadn’t gone, so we spent hours petting Bee and looking at other dogs.

Finally, at 2:30 pm, almost 6 hours later, the curly coats started going. By now Bee was getting antsy, and this was our first sign that maybe Bee would have too much energy. Bee was uncharacteristically barking and being a crazy pup. 

Bee is a beautiful dog, but today wasn’t her day. She was jumping all over Kari and just being a playful puppy. The dog show is meant to be a serious ordeal. (As you can see from the serious man and dog below.)

Here is what the dogs were meant to do:

And here is what Bee did:

After a six hour wait, Bee had totally gone crazy. She was jumping and barking, and would not stay still for the judge. Kari ended up getting third place out of three dogs in her category. She decided right there and then that she would not come back for another day of the dog show, and that this was the end of Bee’s show dog career.

I still thoroughly enjoyed the dog show disaster, and we all gave Bee some love, even after her performance.

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Renaissance Painters Couldn’t Paint Kids

By Georgia

I have a theory that not a single European Renaissance painter had ever seen a child. I have never personally seen a child in an old painting that didn’t either have the face of a rather tubby sixty-year-old or look like an adult which had undergone the effects of a shrink ray. Here’s some evidence to support my claim. What’s shown here is only the best of the best-- everything was deemed worthy to put in a prestigious art museum, be it the Rijksmuseum or one of the museums in Rotterdam:

The kids in Delft grew up quickly

What a lovely outfit for a... toddler?

Child’s play

She’s 13 and looks like she’s seen some things

The true meaning of “young adult”

This small child (?) has... cleavage? Someone, please explain.

And how old is she?

Again, not the face of a young child.

And my personal favorite, the sweetest cherub baby you could ever imagine:

I rest my case.

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My New Favorite Artist

By Georgia

Amsterdam is filled with museums. In fact, it has the highest density of museums in the world (holland.com). So naturally, we visited quite a few. One that we saw advertised absolutely everywhere was the Moco, or Modern Contemporary, Museum. Bubblegum pink ads for its Banksy exhibition seemed practically ubiquitous. One day, we decided to check it out.

On the day in question-- the day of the dog show-- Mom’s college friend Kari (the one with the dog, duh) decided to join us. After dropping the dog at her AirBnB, we headed over to Museumplein, the square where most of the larger, more famous museums (think Rijksmuseum, van Gogh Museum, etc.) are located. The museum itself was housed in a former Dutch house-- smaller than I was expecting for a museum-- with a line out the door and practically out the house’s gate. We joined the end of the line.

Eventually, we got inside the museum, and proceeded to the first exhibit. Because of the museum’s size, the Banksy exhibition-- plus a supplemental exhibition of the brother-artists Icy & Sot (more on that later)-- filled its entirety. Amid throngs of hipsters in loose jeans with cameras hanging around their necks, we passed through the exhibition. As they say, a picture is worth a thousand words. This is certainly true in the case of Banksy’s work, so I’ll let it speak for itself.

Banksy himself prefers to remain anonymous, so no one truly knows his identity. His work is commentary on everything from consumerism to police brutality to the Iraq War to global warming. His medium-- graffiti stencils-- makes his work widely accessible but also easily erasable.

Icy & Sot, two Iranian brothers, have been called the “Banksy of Iran” for their similarly powerful social commentary in the form of graffiti. In Iran, their work has, in fact, been banned for its controversial nature. The brothers currently live and work in New York. Again, I’ll let the work speak for itself:

(this giant, crumpled dollar bill was placed on the street in New York’s financial district)

Though both exhibits were relatively small, we all genuinely wanted to stop and absorb each and every work, a rarity in my family, at least (we aren’t big art museum people). In the basement was a 3D Roy Lichtenstein take on Van Gogh’s bedroom painting:

Out in the garden, we found a convicted gummy bear and a giant rocking horse, among other pieces:

Though it was small, every piece in the museum made me think, and for this reason I came away with a much greater sense of satisfaction than I generally do after visiting museums.

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Food Glorious Food

By Janelle

In Amsterdam, we wondered, “What the heck IS Dutch food?” So we tried to sign up for the Dutch Food Walking Tour. We were informed online that it was sold out, but we showed up at the starting point at Dam Square anyway. We have learned that often, being nice is an entry ticket where one otherwise is not available (not true at museums). We started chatting with the guide, Sem, a young Dutch native with an excited, stand-up comic, overcaffeinated manner. We learned that his father was a survivor of Auschwitz, and was 68 when Sem was born. A connection was made. Certainly we’d be let in.

Sure enough, when it came time to tally the tour attendees to ensure there were fewer than 20, we made it in handily. Sem led introductions to us and the other tourists from Lithuania, Viet Nam, China, France, Florida (eek!), San Francisco and Germany (with 3 dogs). (Gerald was back at the flat, relaxing and trying to stay cool, as we were having a bit of a global warming heatwave. We missed him!)

Sem explained that the Dutch hate children, because, from birth, they feed them horrible food, with tons of sugar, fat and salt. When a baby is born, the parents bring candied anise seed to the office for everyone -- in blue or pink. We tried some. Yuck.

Off we went to explore more of the culinary side of central Amsterdam. First stop: a chocolate, ice cream and pancakes shop. Sem showed us a big pack of chocolate jimmies. He explained that the Dutch love these chocolate sprinkles so much that they bring them along when they travel in case there are none at their destination (like us and power bars, I guess).

We sampled some sorbet (don’t think the Dutch have a real claim to it,  but it was tasty), and some packaged stroopwaffels -- two thin cinnamony waffle cookies with syrup in between. Sem said to remember the taste, so we could contrast it with fresh stroopwaffles later.

Then he pointed to the corner of the shop, where a mound of cocoa powder sat on a mirror, with short straws and a piece of cardboard next to it. “Dis is for sniffing de chocolate,” he said. He separated a bit of cocoa powder from the rest, made it into a line, and snorted it up his nostril with one of the straws. “Now you try it.” Most of the tour stood back looking askance, but the San Francisco woman stepped right up and did a line.

Again, I am not sure this was a Dutch thing, but I do love chocolate, so I gave it a whirl. Pretty nice!

The tiny Dutch pancakes (called “poffertijes”) were cooking but not yet done, so we moved on to the cheese shop for a while.

Dutch cheese proliferates all over Amsterdam.  A woman in traditional Dutch costume showed us how it was made, from milk curds and an enzyme.

The giant wax-encased cheeses are round so they could be rolled along. I’m lactose intolerant, so I can’t say much more about it. The girls sampled a LOT.

Back to the chocolate snort store for poffertijes. Once cooked, they are covered in butter and powdered sugar. One tiny poffertije has as many calories as a large pancake. Thanks for that, Sem.

Our arteries were still open enough to continue walking, so we headed to a shop for Dutch fries. To increase your chances of a full-on coronary, they are eaten with mayonnaise and satay peanut sauce.

We then went to the Wynand Fockink, which is a famous bar for drinking jenever, the gin-like alcohol the Dutch consume when the canal water is too dirty. Lots of drinking for the Dutch.

We also sampled Dutch liquorice -- per capita consumption 4 pounds a year. It’s salty and completely nasty. Maybe it’s a nice complement to jenever.

Here’s the supermarket aisle with just SOME of the gazillions of types of liquorice:

Off to a stall selling fresh herring. Sem ordered us some paper dishes of it with pickles and onions. I expected it to be salty and pickled, but it was more like sushi. Quite nice, I thought. I was alone among the tour group in this thinking.

To cleanse our palates, we headed to a bakery to sample fresh stroopwaffel. Warm, bendy, dripping with syrup, it was indeed far superior to the packaged stuff -- which also was not bad.

As we passed by some coffeeshops, Sem warned us that other than in those coffeeshops, the space cakes, pot lollypops and other marijuana edibles sold to gullible tourists on the streets have no THC in them. They do have cannabis, but not the particular ingredient that makes you high. Noted.

Finally, we popped into a bar where everyone knew Sem. He ordered us some bitterballen -- fried balls of ???? with ???? inside. I think they had some meat or cheese inside. They’re kind of like croquettes, served dipped in mustard (Sem informed us that the Dutch have the world’s best mustard, which came as a surprise to the French.).

As we left, Sem gave us tips about other bars and restaurants to visit in Amsterdam. All in all, it was our favorite tour. I’ll be taking Gerald on it later this week. If I don’t die of a heart attack before then.

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Pride without Prejudice

By Vivienne

Amsterdam Pride was the biggest pride parade and party I have ever seen. It was even larger than the San Francisco one. But size doesn’t matter: the people do. And at pride, there was every type of person you could imagine; (not only gay, but from every end of the LGBTQ+ spectrum). From 15 to 90 years old, each person showed pride in their own way.

We came to watch people, or as mom says: “people watching”. And there was really a lot to watch. A picture cannot capture the immense size of the canal parade which took place on Saturday during the day, and was of course followed by after parties.

The canal parade had over 80 different floats go by. Each float had a different theme, and some even choreographed dance moves. Songs blared from the floats, and every one was dancing and blowing kisses.

People filled bridges, walkways, and the actual canals. Anyone who had a boat had brought it on the water and was having their own party on that. (See if you can spot Georgia in this mass of people.)

We stood at the canal parade and watched the floats go by for about two hours, and I don’t think I was bored a single second of it.

After all the floats had gone by, the boats lining the canals made their debuts, and peeled off to be in the parade. Some of the small canal boats also had a theme to them, and this was equally exciting to watch.

This was about 30 minutes after the parade had ended, and the streets were still packed.

Sunday night was the party/concert and was just as packed as the parade. This took place in Dam Square, the center of town. It was blocked off area with a stage, performers, tents to get drinks, and people, people, people.

The pride concert was exactly what I expected it to be: packed, sweaty, and full of love from everyone.

We ran into so many people who were dressed up for the occasion. I don’t think pride would have been anywhere near as amazing without the crazy ways people dressed up.

Pride was an enjoyable experience for all of us. Every where in Amsterdam was supporting pride, and by the end of the concert they had stopped letting people in because it was just too crowded.

I feel extremely lucky that I was able to experience pride and be staying in the heart of it all. Shout out to mom and dad for getting us this Airbnb!

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Going Bananas for Monkeys

By Georgia

There’s a magical, forested place in the middle of the Dutch countryside, amid bucolic landscapes and rolling pastures filled with lazy cows where monkeys roam free. It’s called, rather unoriginally, the Apenheul (or Ape House). Of course, we visited. In a series of photos, here is our experience:

The lemurs were incredibly friendly...

and adorable...

and sociable...

and curious.

Squirrel monkeys love cameras....

and are photogenic...

and friendly, unlike squirrels.

And these guys are just tired (we came upon a cluster of 3 napping)

We also caught a gorilla feeding, though not on camera. An employee of the park tossed vegetables from a gray plastic briefcase into the enclosure, to each of the individual gorillas. Some caught them, some didn’t, and one got pegged in the head (cue laughter).

Generally, the primates in the park seemed happy and free to roam in large enclosures, interacting or not interacting with humans. So did the people. They goggled at us nearly as much as we did at them (except for the lemurs, who were completely indifferent to the humans, and thus very approachable).

More monkey business later!

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Always Do The Walking Tour

By Janelle

Wherever we go, we like to take walking tours led by locals. In fact, just before we left on this vacation, we did a walking tour of the Haight Ashbury neighborhood of San Francisco with my dad. It was a great way to learn about an area from a local who’s crazy enough to want to study up on the history, create a binder of photo enlargements, load some 60s music on his phone and talk to strangers for 2 hours. But that’s a story for another blog.

This particular walking tour started outside the MarktHall in Rotterdam -- conveniently located across the plaza from our hotel. Our guide, Job (”yobe”), was a 30s-ish guy with 2 young kids, who beamed with friendliness and clean Dutch living from the moment we met him. Here he is, in the red shirt:

The others on the tour were from Australia, Ireland, Germany, and other places in the Netherlands.

Here are a few cool things we learned:

1. The MarktHall was built in 2014. It has the largest single painting in the world on its ceiling (supposedly) -- much bigger than the Sistine Chapel, at 11,000 square feet (if I recall).  Built into the sides are offices and apartments.

At first the Dutch complained that they didn’t need it, it’d take away business from the plain old outdoor markets, it would be too expensive, etc. Now they love it. and we do too. However, they still complain (and we did too) that it closes at 8 pm. This is to ensure the tenants have peace and quiet (but can’t go down to get dinner in their own building).

The artist also designed a bunch of projections for the ceiling, and the projectors are all along the walls, but to date no projections have ever been shown, and no one, including the artist, knows why.

2. In May 1940, the Germans bombed Rotterdam nearly to the ground. It didn’t have to happen, we learned. The Germans sent the mayor a message warning him that they’d obliterate the place if he didn’t surrender. Not wanting to test the threat, he penned a surrender letter. However, it got lost in the mail or for some other reason wasn’t delivered in time, and KABOOM. Bye, old Rotterdam. Hi new architecture. Here’s what the new Rotterdam looks like:

The building directly above was a church. When it was rebuilt, it continued to be used as a shelter for needy folks/refugees.

3. One remnant of the bombing was the old church, built in ?? I’m gonna say 16 something? Anyway, the church is available to be rented out for wild parties, bat mitzvahs, etc -- and always has been. The Dutch are pretty cheap, so didn’t want to spend the money on a tower for it. But then some folks decided they really needed a tower to live up to the other churches in Europe. So they went with a wooden tower. But the wood was really cheap and not the right type of wood, so it rotted and the tower fell. So they sucked it up and forked over the big bucks for a brick tower. But one day it was really windy, and the tower fell. During a church service. Bricks started falling inside the church. The pastor (or whatever) delivering the sermon tried to calm the congregation by telling them that if it was their time, it was their time. Most did not heed his words and got the heck outta there. There were several casualties.

At first it was a Catholic church, but after a while it converted to a Protestant church. The Catholic priest converted too, and was re-hired to lead the Protestant version of the church.

4. All over the city, new architecture went up after the 1940 bombing. Two very similar buildings were erected next to each other: one white and one red. The red one rents for much more than the white. Why? Because red is a lucky color in China, so Chinese tenants are willing to pay more. Here’s a picture of some of the new buildings and a water park.

5. Erasmus was a famous philosopher who lived in Rotterdam, but the Dutch were too cheap to allocate a big plaza for the sculpture honoring him. So they stuck it behind some crummy apartment buildings.

6. Next stop was this sculpture:

Our guide asked us who we thought it was. We chorused “Santa Claus” -- the correct answer. Next he asked what we thought was in his hand. The group mumbled a bit, and our clean, cherub-faced guide said, “Yes. That’s right. It’s a butt plug.”  I moved to cover the girls’ ears, but was too late.

The guide explained that a sculptor named Paul McCartney (not the Beatle), created a street-sized sculpture of Santa Claus. On his desk during the design happened to be an ‘ahem’ plug for the you know what that a friend had given him as a joke. He naturally felt the need to work this hilarious gag gift from his friend into the art. Et voila. Santa With Butt Plug.

At first the Dutch complained. No one wanted this hideous piece of art in their plaza. Finally the statue found a temporary home, and the Dutch decided they loved it and decided to leave it there.

ASSuming that we all loved it too, the guide had us all pose in front of it for a group photo. With his phone, not ours. I started to wonder if he was really as clean and innocent as he seemed. It was a fun 10 minutes thereafter chatting about this with the girls.

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Is that why I like “design” in The Netherlands

by Gerald

Janelle had a meeting with someone from the Dutch Ministry dealing with vehicle electrification in The Hague, so the kids and I had half a day to site-see. Our chosen destination, The ‘Escher Palace’ in the Hague.

After sorting out how to get there on the metro (after being advised by the very frugal dutch information officer that it would take 5 minutes longer travel time, but be a few Euro cheaper per head), we had a comfortable ride and 1km stroll to get there. On the way we passed through an open air antique bazaar, not something that suits my sense of taste.The most interesting thing we saw on the walk was a sand castle (yes it truly is a sand castle)!

At the museum itself I was shocked as my knowledge of Escher far outstripped my conscious memory. I knew the process he used to produce each print, the tricks of perspective used, and minutia about the guy.

I like Escher a lot, inspired by the book from the museum my parents bought back after their own trip to the Hague when I was a kid! They still sell the same book in the museum shop. Surprisingly you cannot buy that book from the museum shop online!

There were some fun interactive displays at the museum (computer based and “real world.” Viv made her own selfie Escher style!

The simplicity and trickery of Escher’s art appeals to me, and in some ways is analogous to the architecture we have seen in Rotterdam. Interesting, clean and a little bit quirky. Like the hotel we stayed in:

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A  Walk In The Park

. By Georgia

A few nights ago, Mom and I took a stroll in the park.

If you know my mom at all, you know that she is an avid walker. As in, she walks. Everywhere. Chances are, if you’ve ever driven along Santa Cruz Avenue, you’ve seen her hair bouncing as she strides purposefully towards or away from Downtown Menlo Park. She frequents the Trader Joe’s there so often that the employees hug her when she comes in. We’ve had people introduce themselves to our family and recognize her as the “walking lady.” She walks.

This is no different when we’re on vacation-- she must have her daily walk of a minimum of four miles. Inevitably, I accompany her. It’s fun; we always end up somewhere exciting with a story of a new adventure to tell (check out the post on Monsoon Loons about when her shoe got sucked off by vicious mud in India, etc.) Because of these past adventures, I had high hopes for this walk.

A little before sunset, we decided to amble over to a nice-looking park on our map, a mere mile and a half away (we were starting out slow). On the way over, we passed a bank not too cleverly called the “Rabobank”:

and  a lovely little loop of important-looking buildings (if anyone knows what they are, let us know, as we’re still mystified):

Then, just as the sun was setting, we arrived at the park, which was full of families with young children racing around, couples sitting on picnic blankets, and groups of friends, including at least one birthday party. Weeping willows dangled their branches into small lakes, their forms reflecting in the still water.

We also stumbled upon a vibrant flower garden in the park before making our way onward.

On our way back, we decided to head by an art museum. We cut through a few gardens, which included some rather large metal rabbits.

Google Maps, our guide as we now had no idea where we were, led us over a little bridge straight into... a roller disco?

Yes, a public, twilight roller disco. We stopped to marvel at this for a moment-- wondering if they offered skate rentals-- and then, upon seeing that the only materials they had were a cart with a boombox and disco ball (pictured above), moved on, past a fun wall

and an ad for an exhibit focused on the propaganda of Steve Bannon.

Duly intrigued, and disappointed that we had arrived well past the closing time, we ventured homewards (or hostel-wards?), only to hear music pumping from behind us, turn around, and find the roller disco, this time on the move.

(unfortunately, Tumblr is being finicky and not allowing me to add the video. Here’s a description: A man on golden rollerblades from the center of the earlier photo pushes the cart from the previous photos down the path with the black-and-white wall as it plays music. A multicolored disco ball shines. About 20-30 people follow on skates or skateboards, some pushing strollers. From behind the camera, Mom’s voice says, “that’s so cool!”)

Awed and satisfied, we continued home only to find that the same group of skaters had passed directly under the hostel (it’s built over a road, like a bridge) and Dad and Viv weren’t surprised at all about our sighting. Still, it isn’t every day that you come upon a traveling roller disco on what was intended to be a nice stroll in the park.

Until our next escapade!

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Momma had nothing to worry about

By Viv

Mom really had nothing to worry about. Georgia and I stayed in crowded areas and did a little people watching on our way to lunch (which was about two blocks away).

Right outside our front door we saw a huge market that stretched for 3+ blocks. It had everything: books, shoes, clothes, towels, corn, fresh fruit, fish, purses, etc.

We later learned that this market was only open on Tuesdays and Saturdays from morning to early afternoon, so we were lucky to have caught it one of the days.

After walking through all 3+ blocks of the market, and walking well beyond where our lunch spot was, we decided to turn around and get a bite to eat.

The place we ate at was called Panzero; Apulian StrEat Food.

Lunch was great, and Georgia and I were not kidnapped despite Mom’s fear that we would be.

We were having too much fun to head back straight after lunch so we decided thrift shopping was just what we needed. (We were updating Mom and Dad with absolutely anything we did,  as we had been requested to do.)

We went to one thrift store which lived up to its name; Cheap Fashion. The fashion was cheap and I got a Nike jacket for only five euros (which we both thought was a total steal). Georgia didn’t get anything, but I promised to share my jacket with her.

After being out only 2.5 hours we headed home, and found our parents right where we had left them--sleeping in bed.

See Momma, you had nothing to worry about. No injuries, no kidnapping, and no death took place.

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Letting go of my babies

by Janelle

Mah babies, mah babies! I sent them off into the big world alone (in a foreign country) for the first time yesterday. 

I was holed up in the room with stomach problems. I know what you’re thinking -- “stomach problems” is just a euphemism for diarrhea. In this case, it was a constant, almost unbearable abdominal pain caused by some combo of 1) accidentally eating a cheese omelet on the plane before realizing the cheese was mixed right into the omelet rather than sitting in the middle where I could avoid it and 2) being so sleep deprived from the flight that I accidentally took my immunosuppressive drugs twice in 5 hours instead of in 12 hours. Ah, the joys of extreme lactose intolerance and a kidney transplant. Also, to be fair, there wasn’t not diarrhea.

Gerald gallantly decided to stay in the room with me. The girls were antsy to get out, and Georgia was hangry. They asked to head out on their own to get lunch and wander around.

Calm and cool on the outside, ever the mellowest of moms, I panicked inside. Alone in Rotterdam, where only 95% of people even speak English??! Anything could happen to them. I immediately imagined the worst. But they’re 14 and 15 years old. I was 16 when I lived in Spain for 9 months and didn’t see my parents even once -- and there were no tracking devices. It was time to let go. My baby birds must fly free.

So I pushed them out of the nest. But first I issued the standard warnings about a man in a van offering them candy. And took a picture of them for the Missing Persons report and the milk cartons.

Photo taken from bottom bunk, where I was stuck unable to move.

Then I made sure I could track their cell phones. I made them promise to leave their data on and text us once every 7 minutes. They quickly sent me 4 texts while still in the room, which they claimed bought them an uninterrupted half an hour. Fair enough.

I said “Bye, my loves. I hope I see you again some day. Don’t disappear like August Rieger.” (August is the 18 year old boy who disappeared from his family 4 years ago -- we met his parents when we were in Banos, Ecuador. Still has not been found. Haunts my dreams.)

And off they went. My baby birds had flown the nest.

[cantdutchthisblog]

Just Okay

By Georgia Wluka

I have slept for a total of two hours in the past 24, and for a full 1, I dreamed that I was trying to get comfortable in a tiny drawer, for good reason.

It all started on the plane flight; we chose an overnight flight, assuming that we would sleep during our shortened “night” and arrive in Amsterdam at noon (3 am California time) able to pack in a few hours of touristing before turning in for the night. Yeah, right. Long story short, we did not sleep at all and arrived at our hotel in Rotterdam grumpy and practically dozing off on our feet (Mom disputes the “grumpy” part... but yeah, we were). 

Our hotel, called the Stay Okay, was a mere 200 meters from the train station, and when Mom first announced that we’d arrived, I thought I was either asleep and dreaming or hallucinating. Here’s what it looks like:

“We’re going to be staying IN those!” she announced excitedly. Immediately, we all perked up: for the next four nights, we’d be living inside giant floating yellow cubes. How cool was that?

Not as cool from the inside. Our room is cramped and the roof is slanted so that there’s approximately a 2 square foot space where Dad can stand without bumping his head. There are two sets of bunk beds and a single window in one of the many corners, facing downwards for some odd reason. Observe:

If you know my parents, you know that they would never settle for this. So we requested a room change to somewhere a little more spacious. Our wish was granted, but alas, this room was without air conditioning, one of our necessities. On top of that, the new room had a massive skylight with no way to block out the sun. Being creatures that thrive in dark, cool spaces (maybe we should try burrowing?), we moved back into the original room. The blasting AC now seemed like a blessing, and that’s where we’re holing up for the next few days. 

We settled in for a nap (Viv had already been drifting off each time we changed rooms) and I dreamed that I was trying to squeeze myself into a tiny drawer to bed down, unsuccessfully.

The hotel has lived up to its name-- so far, it seems like it will be just (stay)okay. But hey, after this, an Air BnB will feel like a castle.

Stay tuned for more adventures regarding funky architecture and sleeping! Now I’m off to (hopefully) get a full 9 hours of shut-eye.