My family has been visiting for the last few weeks, and the other night my cousin and I went to the London Eye for a ride and did a river cruise on the Thames. Not sold on the eye, being up there made me feel kind of nauseous, but the river cruise was well worth it. I couldn’t take enough pics.
I’ve still got Amsterdam on the brain, and I think it has a lot to do with its dichotomies. A city full of understated fashionistas, who despite wearing 4-inch heels, will still ride around day and night by bike. A city completely accepting of prostitution and drugs, yet one of the most family-friendly cities I’ve visited. The canals are more charming than you could imagine, the parks and patches of greenery available for the public at every turn. I truly wonder how people get any work done here, since it is one of those places where being indoors, even for a few minutes, feels like such a waste of time.
Anyways, my cousins arrive this weekend for a visit, and I am headed to Barcelona in a few weeks and suspect I will be equally pleased with this city in a number of different ways. But until then, I’ll keep going back to admire my Amsterdam pictures, reminding me of an intense and lovely 48-hour trip. One that I needed to sleep 16 hours from upon my return home to London in order to fully recover.
2 Notes
Despite my initial reservations of staying in a mixed dorm hostel – one friend warned of weirdos, another of excessive noise and disturbance – it was only natural for me to end up in a 6-dorm room being the only girl. In fact, when I had breakfast with two of them Sunday morning, they let me know they’d had a private chat over drinks the night before confused at how I could actually be comfortable staying in a room with five random guys I didn’t know. That’s the thing, I wasn’t that comfortable at first, but they seemed nice enough and quite interesting, and if I felt safe, what was the big deal.
I spent my first day walking for 8 hours. By the time I made it to Dam Square my feet were so swollen, they had a pulse. Ill-timed, the King was about to make an appearance and the entire area was blocked off, so the 5-minute walk to where I was staying took 25 minutes, after which time I could no longer slip my extremely comfortable ballet flats over my feet.
During the day, I went to Albert Cuyp Market, relaxed in Vondel Park, drank wine and read along the canal, shopped on 9 Straatjes, wandered to the Van Gogh museum and disparaged by the line, relaxed in the park and people watched at the I love Amsterdam sign. I made it to the Heineken museum, but upon realizing it was a self-guided tour full of games and ridiculousness, decided against it, and after being up since 4am, settled in to bed nice and early.
Day two, I spent having breakfast with two guys from my room, both of whom are living and working in the Middle East. One of whom was extremely cute. And made plans to have drinks with them later, and off I went.
I took the touristy hop-on, hop-off bus, in part to see if I’d missed anything the day before where I’d almost lost a toe to my excessive city exploring, and to avoid getting lost. Waited an hour and a half to get into the Anna Frank museum and was delighted by the sunshine that hit my face the entire time, and the strawberries the museum staff regularly passed out. The actual experience was sad though, as I guess it should be. Seeing the tiny space her family lived in, imagining them being found out, and thinking how hard it must have been for her father to decide to publish her diaries when he returned from war to find out he was the only one who survived was heartbreaking. And when you acknowledge their family is just the face of the horror so many people experienced, it is beyond depressing.
Luckily, the sun was shining, so my mood recovered as I left the Anne Frank museum. As I wandered lost in thought, I came across the tulip museum, the cheese museum and finally the pancake bakery, a restaurant I’d read about numerous times before arriving. Verdict? Like any place that’s too hyped up, it had become touristy and predictable. The food wasn’t bad, per say, but everyone in there was snapping away on their SLRs.
I strolled through the rows of shops on my way back, and eventually settled in the square to read. A good book being a solo traveller’s best friend. It’s funny, I’ve always loved spending time alone, and won’t hesitate to head to a film solo or much else I feel like doing even if no one else is interested, but I was still surprised to realize how enjoyable solo travel can be.
The evening was spent with a lovely group of travellers, drinking, toasting, and learning about each other’s hometowns and so on. One guy asked me where in Ontario I was from after hearing me utter only a few words. He went on to say how much he loved Canadians, which I am always open to hearing about.
And I had a lovely time chatting with my cute friend from breakfast, who turned out to be one of the sweetest guys I’ve met. I am still thinking about him, actually, wondering how it is possible to spend months dating one person and feel a level of closeness and affection for them, but learn and share more with another in just one day. It has to have something do with the travel experience, I think. Or at least be easier to connect when travelling since there is an expiration on everything, a guaranteed end point that makes opening up less complicated than when a possible future looms ahead. But still, I think it’s a reminder that we are able to connect with people on such different levels, and the type of emotional connection or chemistry we want and need to experience should be there from the outset.
Sigh, I had such an absolutely lovely weekend, and am sure I will return to the city again. And after only 45-minutes sleep my last night, I boarded an early morning flight to return home. To London. Upon stepping off the plane, I was excited to make my way home and crawl into my bed. My London bed. It’s clear that I already feel comfortable in London, but I am amazed at how at home I feel, and how easily the city has made its way into my heart.
1 Notes
I landed in Amsterdam amidst rambunctious noise from a few rows ahead. Distracted for a moment, my mind drifted off and despite never having been to Amsterdam before, I realized I kind of had been here. Well, the airport, anyways. Three years ago, almost to the day. En route to Italy for a three-week journey, I was spending the first leg of it with a promising Italian man, and my expectations were definitely high. I wandered the rows of magazines in the airport, an intense set of nerves causing my stomach to flip-flop continuously until I fell asleep on my connecting flight to Italy.
I headed to Amsterdam this weekend under different pretenses altogether. Having travelled extensively in my 29 years, I had yet to experience a journey solo. I’d planned the occasional solo adventure only to be greeted by friends or family member making these holidays impromptu joinings instead.
I’d travelled a ton on my own for business, which didn’t count, I don’t think. While the actual travel portion is solo, the minute you arrive you’re greeted with an instant group of people to socialize with.
I came to Amsterdam alone. Intentionally. Without any plans to meet a boy. Well, not one I already know, that is. I’ve admired friends who’ve packed their bags with nothing more than a good book and their own company, and I’m well aware that my inner dialogue and introspection is at its peak when I am on the move alone. A few days of walking through a new city is definitely my way to tap into myself. To reflect on the last four months spent in London, my new home. And an opportunity to take it all in. Canals. Tulips. And lest we not forget, beer.
6 Notes
This is a no-brainer observation but it was only this week that I realized the biggest changes in my London life have little to do with the city and a lot to do with my previous habits. I no longer watch TV. It’s true. Mostly. I used to park myself in front of Girls or Sex and the City marathons, letting these female casts eat away an entire Saturday. And yes, I did need to decompress from a long, potentially stressful, week. But I most certainly did not need to do it so much. I also used to spend every waking hour on my iPhone. Texting, whatsapping, facebooking, tweeting, you name it. Without cable here in London, I’ve all but forgotten the TV even exists. And the phone, well, aside from two or three single phone conversations a week, I barely gab on it. The fact that I only have 250 minutes per month and have a ton to spare at month end are proof that the telephonitis my parents were so concerned about in my teenage years really has come to pass.
Outside is where my previously sun-shy tastes have led me. Well, when the weather cooperates, that is. As of late, it’s been quite pleasant. So nice, in fact, that I’ve pulled out my summer wardrobe. A sure sign the warm weather is here to stay. Spent last weekend in Greenwich, will be in Amsterdam next weekend, and have so much on for May, it is almost ridiculous. It will definitely be a change of pace from easygoing languid months thus far, but when it comes to friends and family, it’s always a good thing to make room for change. Two of my cousins arrive May 8, another cousin arrives May 12, the last one leaves on May 24, the same day my grandparents arrive. AND, the day after my grandparents leave, a good friend from home arrives and we’ll embark on a France, Croatia, Greece adventure. Definitely no idle time to spare. Especially on the tele.
1 Notes