Show of hands, who LOVES getting up before dawn to catch a plane or train?
No one?
Oh good, me either. So let me recount for you the morning we left for Amsterdam:
My friends Jessica and Lindsey met me at my host family's house at 5:30 a.m. so we could share a taxi to the train station. However, I didn't know taxis at such an early hour required night-before reservation, so I called the taxi service and got a driver yelling at me in fast French to try again in 15 minutes. Our train was due at 6:15, and taxis can be rather undependable anyway. Nor were there any buses running. So the three of us ran (already weighed down with heavy backpacks and bags) to the nearest free bike rental station, spent a frustrating five minutes trying to figure out how to detach the bike from its post, and then hauled ass via bike to the train station. And on the way up a huge hill, one of the pedals broke and completely fell off my bike, leaving nothing but a metal bar for my right foot. And then we had to find a place to leave our bikes for the weekend (hoping they wouldn't be stolen) and run another 15 minutes down to the train station.
After a solid 25 minutes of Ironman-style running and biking, we made it to the train station with 5 minutes to spare.
But there's more!
We stopped in Paris to change trains, but the stations were nearly on opposite sides of the city and we only had 25 minutes to catch the next train. So our group of six ran through the Montparnasse station (yelling many an "excusez-moi" at people ahead), hopped on the Métro, and ran through the Paris Nord station. Made that train with two minutes to spare.
I don't think I've ever run that hard to catch anything in my life. But in retrospect, Amsterdam made up for it all. I absolutely adore that city, and I WILL go back someday. Fall was in full bloom, so for the two days we were there we caught the stunning effect of gold trees lining the canals. The colorful rectangular houses and cruiser bikes completed the image and felt like classic northern Europe to me. It rained for a good part of the voyage, but we caught some sun during our canal tour on the last day. We stayed in the city's most popular hostel (primarily a bar, secondarily a place to sleep), which allowed us to meet some great people from all over the world. The first night, we barely even left the hostel because it seemed like the best place to be. The next day, we toured the Van Gogh museum and a cocktail museum, coffee shops, and walked through the red light district.
For those of you that still live under a rock, marijuana and prostitution are both legal in Amsterdam. Despite the utter weirdness of walking down a street and seeing underwear-clad women bouncing in front of dimly lit windows, I never felt like the city was an out-of-control party. Maybe the incessant pot smoking makes everyone a human vegetable, you might reason. Yet I'd say that's not it at all. Virtually no one smokes in the streets, only in coffee shops, if even there. I didn't encounter a single person who seemed stoned, and no one made a huge deal out of the pot. Amsterdam seemed to confirm that abuse of a substance or practice does not result from its legalization. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.
I left Amsterdam feeling as if I had not seen or spent enough time exploring the city. We wanted to stay a third night, but we already had reservations for a hostel in Brussels. So we got back on the train.
In truth, I didn't like Belgium very much--or at least Brussels. As my friend Summer put it (and I think she's right), the Belgians are a rougher people than the French. Instead of the black scarves and small-framed figures of France, Belgium boasts dreadlocks, hoodies and big bones. Economic problems between the French-speaking and Flemish parts of the country reflect in filthy streets and buildings coated in pollution. Put it all against the backdrop of a cold, gray sky, and you have the reason why there's not much to do here except eat.
And eat I did! Beer, waffles, chocolate, more chocolate, more beer...
We took a night train back to Pau, and although no hauling ass was necessary this time, we were all exhausted. I arrived in Pau at 7:20 in the morning, with only two days to get ready for my trip to Rome.
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