Welcome back! As promised, I have plenty of stories to tell from my first adventure out of the country.
After a night of literally no sleep (I stayed up all night talking with a friend) my alarm went off at 5am on November 14th. The time had come to roll out of bed, throw on my backpack (which I'd had the foresight to pack the night before), and sleepily make my way to Waterloo Station to meet the rest of the travel group. This trip was planned through Proscenium Tours, the same company which took me and Amy to Wales last time. I found our tour group next to a woman giving out clementines, a welcome snack so early in the morning. There, I met with Michael, Alexsa, Casey, and Steph. The whole tour group was big enough to warrant three coach buses. Luckily, all Kingston students were put together. I claimed Michael as my bus-buddy and pillow, and we slept until the coaches arrived in Dover. This meant, of course, getting to finally see the famous white cliffs of Dover!
We got to Dover earlier than expected. Initially we were supposed to catch an 11:00 ferry to Calais, but arrived early enough to possibly catch the 10:00. The tour guide briefly left the bus to ask if we could be let on. When she came back, she was smiling and shaking her head as she turned on the intercom.
"The good news is: We're on the earlier ferry! The bad news is: the French are on strike,so this journey might take longer than expected."
(Apparently the French are on strike frequently? I cannot confirm or deny this information. What I CAN confirm is that the French border patrol is laughably relaxed. A French border patrol officer simply came on the bus, asked everyone to open their passports to a blank page, and walked through the bus giving us all stamps. No I.D. checks or anything.)
So we did get the early ferry, but what should have been a 90 minute ferry ride ended up taking five hours due to the strike. Most of that time was spent waiting to dock at Calais. However, we made the most of our time by exploring the ferry and playing Quarters.
Now, I went into this knowing very little about Calais. The only reason I knew of Calais' existence as a gateway to France via the English Channel was because of Monty Python's Flying Circus. Specifically, the episode where Mister Ron Obvious is attempting to jump the English Channel. When asked how far it was from his location to France, he replied, "Well, it's 26 miles from here to Calais!"
There began and ended my knowledge of Calais.
When we finally arrived and got back in the bus, the tour guide welcomed us to France. (Though I don't count driving through Calais as having "been to France.") Just outside of the port, the tour guide told us that if we looked out our windows, we would see the illegal immigrants trying to get to the U.K. I somehow expected it was a joke, but sure enough there were at least fifteen people running across the highway, dodging traffic, trying to get into the port. Police officers chased them on land while more police cars screamed by to try to cut them off. Many are refugees from Sudan and Syria, others come from Eritrea and Ethiopia. Despite the French asking England for help with the issue, England has repeatedly dismissed it as a French problem. The immigrants live in camps near the port, routinely trying to hop on trucks to get into a ferry and across the channel. According to this article from the BBC, at least three immigrants were killed by cars on the week of November fifth. It is an ongoing problem that neither country seems to have a good handle on, from a political or humanitarian standpoint. (But this is the internet, and therefore I shall not input my own opinion on such matters.)
After driving through Belgium (which the tour group would stop in on the way back to Calais), we arrived, much later than expected, in Amsterdam. I had a quick shower before meeting with my group and heading into the city center at around 11pm. (Our hotel was a quick train or bus ride away.)
We had absolutely no idea where anything was, so we just started walking in search of food. It was only about fifty feet outside of the train station when, in unison, we all stopped, deeply inhaled, and said, "Yep, we're definitely in Amsterdam."
The smell of marijuana had arrived. (As had some beautiful buildings.)
The smell lingers just about everywhere. There's hardly a street without at least one "coffee shop" on it. Coffee shops in Amsterdam do sell coffee, but are much more famous for being cannabis dispensaries. Several of the ones we passed were filled with smoke which poured out into the streets they faced. It was almost surreal, seeing how easy and acceptable it was to obtain marijuana. I thought that was the only drug that was easy to get, but I would be proven wrong during our second trip into the city. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
We managed to find food at a Mexican restaurant called...The Mexican. (Real creative.) Now, a Mexican restaurant in Amsterdam probably sounds incredibly sketchy. Somehow, though, it was some of the best Mexican food we'd ever had. When our stomachs were satisfied, we traveled back into the streets to explore the city some more.
As we walked along the canal-divided streets at midnight, one would think it was still early evening for all of the activity going on. Friday night in Amsterdam meant parties, smoking, more smoking, and maybe another party. The streets were packed. We poked our heads into one coffee shop which smelled like California (hah). It was selling all sorts of varieties of marijuana (which meant nothing to someone as foreign to weed as I am) and playing music by The Weeknd (appropriate, given the content of his lyrics). Despite all agreeing that, generally, "green lights mean good and red lights mean bad," we walked into an alley with red lights the second we saw it. There were plenty of other people in said alley, so it wasn't like we were heading into a murder scene.
We were heading into the Red Light District instead.
I don't know why I was expecting it to be more obvious but, depending on how one enters it, the district can just seemingly jump out of nowhere. One minute we were walking along a canal smelling nothing but marijuana and waffles, the next we were in a red-tinted alley with prostitutes standing behind glass doors, modeling like mannequins and waiting for Johns to come knocking. Those prostitutes are everywhere. We got to the other end of the alley and the street we came out on was lined with more prostitute doors, theaters showing live sex shows, shops filled with sex toys, parlors offering massages of the erotic variety, and so on. Some of the prostitutes had signs in their windows listing their "specialties" or things they may be more into. A sampling of the signs we passed: erotic couples massages, girl on girl, BDSM. (Don't Google that if you don't know what it is. Allow a seasoned veteran of the internet to enlighten you: Bondage, Dominance, Sadism, Masochism. It is not, however, 50 Shades of Grey. That's what we call abusive relationships. But I digress...) That last one was, somehow fittingly, down a darker alley off of the main street. Also on that alley were women that were, judging by the impressive bulges in their underwear, transvestites. There is something for everyone in the Red Light District, so long as you're looking for sex. For us, it was simply an unforgettable look into a large industry of the sinful city of Amsterdam. After finding our way back to the station and figuring out the bus route home (since it was 2am, the trains had stopped running) we got back to the hotel and passed out in extremely comfortable beds. (Thank you, Crown Plaza Hotel!)
Saturday was an early day. After a solid six hours of sleep (much needed), I went downstairs to the breakfast buffet to fuel up for a day of traveling. The breakfast was impressive. I think I ate two platefuls of food. Eggs, fruit, croissants, bacon, miniature pancakes, the buffet had it all! (It kept me full all day and until a late dinner that night.) The plan for Saturday was to hop back on the coach and see Volendam and Edam before heading back into the Amsterdam city center.
Our first stop, Volendam, was a pretty little place. It is a fishing village, so many restaurants offer seafood as specialties. If we had been hungry, I'm sure we would have indulged. Instead, we used the brief hour in the village to take pictures and explore the Museum of Cheese, which was in the basement of a large cheese shop.
While in Volendam, we came across a market that was similar to the ones in Kingston. Different stalls sold everything from candy to clothes, local foods to notebooks, and, of course, cheese. Lots of cheese.
The hour in Volendam flew by, and we were herded back onto our coach buses and taken to Edam. As usual, I slept on Michael for the duration of the journey. (I was still recovering from the all-nighter on Thursday.) When I woke up, this was the beautiful sight I was greeted with:
The group sampled a variety of cheeses and settled on one we all liked the flavor of. Michael purchased a small wheel of it, and we would indulge later that night. In the meantime, we got back on the bus and were taken back into the center of Amsterdam. This time, we had the entire afternoon and evening ahead of us to explore.
Myself, Michael, Alexsa, Casey, and Steph all had at least one similar goal in mind: visit the Anne Frank Museum. We managed to find it and, after waiting in line in the rain for about an hour and a half, we finally got inside. It was well worth the wait, and anyone visiting Amsterdam absolutely must see the museum. It was probably the most moving, intense, and powerful experience I've ever had. (No photos allowed, so I have no pictures.) The museum is in the actual building where Otto Frank, Anne's father and the only survivor of the immediate family, had a business. The Secret Annex was hidden in the upper levels of the building, behind a movable bookshelf. Museum guests get to walk through the business, pass by the bookshelf (kept in the same condition as it was in the 1940's), and enter the annex where Anne, her family, and others stayed hidden. The rooms are kept empty on purpose: after the war, Otto Frank wanted the room kept as the Nazis left them. Each room has different quotes from Anne's diary on the walls, along with videos of interviews with people such as Otto and other helpers of the family. Being inside the annex, walking through the doorways they walked through and touching the cabinets they touched, was incredibly moving. Despite living 70-odd years ahead of the events that consumed Anne's world, being in that annex while seeing and hearing a video of Hitler making a passionate speech to a massive, cheering army was truly terrifying. I have never had such a gripping sense of dread and fear come over me. The whole museum was an extremely emotional experience. Michael and I walked through it together, hardly saying any words while we passed pencil marks on the walls where Anne's mother measured her height or looking at pictures Anne plastered on her bedroom wall to make it more homey. By the end, seeing her diary and many other pages of her writing, we were both teary eyed and no doubt shared the feeling of having a heavy weight on our chests. The feeling only went away after stepping outside, taking a deep breath, and reuniting with Steph, Alexsa, and Casey. (They had somehow gotten ahead of us in the museum.)
After such a heavy experience, it was time to go out into the city and see what we could find. Earlier in this post, I mentioned that I thought weed was the only tolerated drug and that I was proved wrong. This was when that happened. We found a shop that sold smoothies, milkshakes, and cookies...all of which were infused with drugs. The milkshakes were made with hemp ice, the cookies and brownies were cannabis desserts, and customers could choose from a variety of herbs to add to smoothies (anything from hemp, of course, to hallucinogens). Here's a glimpse into our time at the shop and the variety of things sold:
Yes, apparently not only is weed easy to buy, but so is ecstasy, mushrooms, and a derivative of cocaine which people usually drink in a shot. Amsterdam, you outdo yourself.
After purchasing approximately nothing exciting (yes, parents, I behaved), we headed down the street to a place that didn't sell drugs, but might as well have hit us with ecstasy. It was a shop that sold house-made chocolate, various flavors of gelato, and waffles. Now, I thought I was happy with my scoop of lemon cake gelato...
...but then Casey and Alexsa called me over to try what they had ordered: a waffle with warm white chocolate drizzled on top. Michael and I tried a bite, and our immediate reaction was to embrace. We'd both reached a new level of spiritual bliss through this waffle. I kid you not, it was the best thing any of us have ever tasted. I've never had a waffle like it: it was very much a dessert item. It was melt-in-your-mouth moist, soft, just the right amount of sweet, and nice and warm. The white chocolate drizzle added a perfect touch of sweet, chocolatey goodness without being overpowering. We "joked" that Jesus himself had mixed the waffle batter and angels blessed the white chocolate (that's probably exactly how it works, otherwise those couldn't possibly taste that good). There will never be a better appetizer before dinner. We could have just eaten our dinner there, but decided it was best to find another sit-down restaurant and relax. We ended up in a tapas place that was a bit pricy for us, but had pretty good food. Nothing could beat the waffles, though.
We didn't go back into the Red Light District that night. We ended up going back to the hotel at a reasonable time in hopes of getting a good night of sleep before having to wake up early again to head out to Bruges, Belgium. Before going to bed, however, we had some Edam cheese to eat. We all gathered in Michael and Casey's bedroom, "cut" up pieces of cheese with a spoon (the one piece of cutlery we had), drank pre-made rum and cokes from cans or wine out of plastic glasses, and watched a documentary on PCP use in Washington D.C. Clearly we had a very classy wine and cheese night.
Before going to sleep, I took a long bath in a tub that was bigger than my dorm bathroom. I was happy, my injured tendon was blissful, and I was able to sleep in complete relaxation.
Sunday morning began with a sad goodbye to the delicious breakfast buffet. Once again, the group stocked up on calories early to tide us over for most of the day. We took off for Bruges, a beautiful town in Belgium filled with cathedrals, horse-drawn carriages, and (naturally) plenty of places to purchase chocolate and waffles. We did try waffles with whipped cream when we got there. The waffles were far superior to anything I've tried in the states, but even these Belgian waffles couldn't edge out the perfectly cooked disciples of food angels that were the Amsterdam ones. (At this point you may think I'm exaggerating. In reality, I'm attempting to use humor to describe how honestly, stupidly good those waffles were.)
Running around Bruges was a good time. We sampled various chocolates (not a single one was disappointing), and found a shop that was known for selling chocolates in quirky flavors such as bacon, cannabis (can't escape it, can we?), sake, cola, or wasabi.
Before departing, we grabbed some sandwiches for lunch that perfectly hit the spot. I saved half of mine, a chicken pesto panini, for the ferry ride home.
The ferry ride home took the normal amount of time (90 minutes) which we spent playing quarters, sharing funny stories, and having a couple of drinks. I slept for most of the coach ride home, waking up just as the London Eye came into view. I parted ways with Steph, Michael, and Casey in Waterloo Station, and Alexsa and I took the train back to Surbiton before walking back to our respective homes. I am so thankful for having such great company for this amazing, funny, unforgettable weekend in mainland Europe.
This has already been quite the long post! I'll speak quickly about the fun-filled "Friendsgiving" we had last night. Naturally, the Americans I know all wanted to celebrate Thanksgiving in a country that doesn't. We would be in class the night of actual Thanksgiving, so we decided it would be easier to celebrate the Saturday night before. Ben and Karli graciously hosted at their flat. It was a potluck dinner, and all of the food we ate was very satisfying (well done, all chefs!). We had a turkey, vegetarian stuffing, regular stuffing, vegetarian gravy, regular gravy, cranberry sauce, peas, green bean casserole, salad, nut loaf, fourteen pounds of mashed potatoes (not kidding), pumpkin pie, gluten free individual apple pies, pecan pie, ice cream, cheesecake, and probably even more that I'm forgetting.
After the obligatory post-dinner food comas and naps, we tucked into dessert and somehow managed to eat even more. Once we were done clearing the table and turning the makeshift dining room back into a living room, we decorated the Christmas Tree and posed with our official Christmas mascot, Frank the flasher muppet.
...but we managed to get quite a nice smiling picture, too. Thank you for the tasty meal and the awesome night, everyone!
For those of you who actually read this through to the end: Thank you, too! You're all my favorite. This wraps up my journey to mainland Europe and the belt-loosening meal that was Friendsgiving. This coming weekend I'm heading to Scotland, so that will bring my next blog post when I can. (Final essays are coming up, so depending on my schedule there might be a slight delay with writing that one.) Now, I think it's time for me to eat some Thanksgiving leftovers, give my dad a birthday Skype chat (HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD! Your card is somewhere in the world, trying to get to you as fast as mail carriers allow!), and look forward to a second Thanksgiving meal tomorrow, this time with the Connect UK International Student Society! Until next time...cheers!
