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From Sunday, 3-23 (I wrote this in my journal before writing it here):
I’ve never considered myself the type of writer that people would read, not to mention actually find funny. Yet, when you’re sitting in a FREEZING train station for 7 hours, you have little more to do. Yes, we tried going into Amsterdamproper this morning, but that was a bust. We got on the train ok, left Centraal Station and started to freeze. Of course, we put our luggage in storage, so we didn’t have access to our coats and Brother Bee was in shorts. So we walked about 6 blocks to the Dam (a square) where the palace of the current royalty lives. There is also a WWII momument in the Dam. But it was cold! So, we decided to find a place to eat something. This turned out to be a little bakery called Delifrance. We ate apple tart and some croissant thing with berries and cream. But the second I sat down, I started to feel jetlag and I’m exhausted. I think as I wrote this note in my journal, I had been up about 24 straight hours. All energz to actually do something has left me. Only the cold and fear of missing our train is keeping me up. (this was the low point of the trip) Maybe this $8 mocha has something to do with it. Culture shock? Not really, money shock? Totally. I mean, I knew it would be expensive, but this is nuts. We’ll see how two weeks goes! Also odd is the sensation that everyone looks Anglo or English-European, but I can’t understand them. This is an amaying phenomenom. One last word- boots. BIG in Amsterdam. From ankle boots to knee highs, the are B-I-G.
Day One, 3-22, Saturday
Woke up at 3:30 am to the radio and Hubby Bee’s phone alarm. We couldn’t trust the iHome today. We had breakfast at home and headed to the airport at 4:50am. Early, Early. But, I think there were at least 4 flights leaving Bozeman this morning. It was so crazy! We got in line behind a familz with 4 children and 8 bags. Nuts. Oh well. We ran upstairs to security to beat the crowd. Totally uneventful. Besides the guy in front of me who apparently stuffed the entire hotel mini-bar in his suitcase, and as the TSA lady-agent began to pull out the bottles one-by-one for the whole security line to see, tried to explain that he “forgot” they were in there. How one forgets about 6 bottles of Jack Daniels, I’ll never know. Bozeman, a small town airport? Don’t try telling the TSA that!
Currently, We’re over the clouds, looking at my personal in-seat screen, where it says I’m somewhere over Gypsum Hills and I’m thinking, where the HELL is that? Turns out, Oklahoma. People around me? Family of 4 plus one (grandma); cute, but are totally going to miss their connecting flight. Family of 3? Behind. Sweating about missing their flight. They’re on some other international flight that leaves 20 min. before our. And older guy, across aisle, who is CONSTANTLY blocking traffic. Meanwhile, Brother Bee’s watching Wedding Crashers on his iPod eating the entire bag of Goldfish because neither one of us is going to pay $5 for a snack box. Christ, we just paid $200 for 116 Euros. Ouch.
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