Sex, drugs and ham

Boob touching.

Most people come to Amsterdam to party. The place where pot, magic mushrooms and prostitution are legal, it might be strange that someone like me would end up here. I always thought Amsterdam looked pretty in pictures. And I have always wanted to go to the Anne Frank house and the Van Gogh museum. I thought that the whole pot thing was sort of on the down low, kind of like "We're Euro and are cool so we legalize pot."

I was wrong. Coming here was kind of like walking into a frat party. Arriving at my hostel, I was greeted by the sweet aroma of marijuana as soon as I opened the front door. All the people staying there look and talk like they are 18 years old. There are a few that look older but that is only only because of their scruffy beards that go with their Phish t-shirts. Walking around the city, I was bombarded by "coffee shops" and at first, it was kind exciting seeing people smoking out in the open. But after ten minutes of walking by a multitude of Bob Marley posters, hemp leaves in the window and souvenir shops selling drug-related merchandise, I was already bored with it.

I am in Amsterdam and there is a part of me that says, I am here, I should take advantage of some of the debauchery that the city has to offer. But there is nothing appealing about going to a coffee shop or a sex show (yes, you can watch people have sex here on stage) alone and thinking wow, this is not really that fun alone. I walked by the Red Light District and seeing the skimpily dressed women--ranging from pretty to very ugly--in the windows kind of depressed me. (I learned on my guided tour of the city that the women rent a window for 150 euros for an 8-hour shift and that they usually receive about 50 euros for each 10-15 minute encounter). One of the girls saw me looking at her and knocked on the window for me. I scurried away.

I decided I would keep an open mind about it. If I meet some friends and the opportunity presents itself, then maybe I will participate--in pot smoking, not prostitution! (And yes, my mom is reading this. Hi Mom!) So far the opportunity has not presented itself (the girl sitting next to me at breakfast had her nose in a book, and the people I met on my tour around the city all had bad teeth. I do not want to have any kind of debauchery with people with bad teeth.) To be honest, I am not terribly disappointed. And on my tour, I found out that less than 10% of the people who live here actually participate (it's all for the tourists) so I am having a more authentic local experience. (Besides the fact I spent all day on a guided city tour and at the Anne Frank house).

When you get away from all that, Amsterdam is actually a very nice place. Just like the pictures, the town is quite quaint with its narrow buildings and canals and everyone riding around on their clunky old bikes. There are so many cool places to shop with unique clothes and trinkets and so many art galleries with paintings that make you stop in your tracks (and almost get run over by a bike--dodging them is a major activity around here). And even though I do not engage in pot-smoking or prostitution myself, I appreciate the liberal atmosphere around here and don't mind that others do. If anything, I am wondering why they are not legal anywhere else.

I must say that the sweets situation is not good here. First, the coffee houses here have other priorities than cake. The bakeries I have seen have thick and old looking pastries that make me feel sorry for them. Even I don't want to go there. I did have "the original" New York City pizza. Somehow it did not taste anything like the pizza I have had at home.


Those aren't your average houseplants.


The Red Light District.


The rest of Amsterdam looks like this.

Scenes from Brussels

Just some pictures I like from my stay:

Ceiling of a shopping promenade.


The peeing boy.

A little graffiti next to a statue.


Awesome art nouveau architecture: Musical Instrument Museum

I love the Danish.

The Atomium.

I have become such a lazy traveler.

Being with Gerda and family, all I want to do it stay in their pretty home and spend hours talking at the table and enjoying homecooked meals and munching on chocolate which is kind of what I am doing. I have realized that "home" has now become a destination for me. It doesn't feel commonplace anymore and so I am lapping it up like a dog drinking water.

I almost did not want to do anything yesterday--which is silly since I am in Brussels--but Gerda suggested that we go to the Atomium, which is a sight that would be new for both the family and me. The Atomium, which is a huge structure in the shape of the iron molecule, was built during the World Fair in 1958, and is Belgium's version of the Eiffel Tower. People go visit it to check out the views from the top.

Katrine, who had heard about it at school, was so excited that she skipped and jumped and ran around in circles as we walked towards it. However, the excitment waned quickly as the inside was nowhere as cool as the outside. For 9 euros each, we paid to wait in line to go to the top, which was a cramped, hot and smelly room, only to wait in line to go back down. For some reason, they did not let anyone use the stairs and so we spent the whole time waiting for the elevator. It would have made all the difference.

Gerda and Morten, being the gracious hosts, paid for everything, even buying me and Katrine and Anna Belgian waffles just so I can taste them. Gerdan and Morten are not that much older than me, but suddenly I felt like I could be one of their daughters.

"If my family dies and I am all alone, will you take me in?" I asked Gerda.

She said sure. I really meant it. I love these people.

First there is Katrine, the youngest. I cannot understand a word she says, but her facial expressions are filled with love, hate, rage, and silliness and she is fun to watch. Even though it is probably annoying for her parents, it is hilarious seeing her get mad over the littlest thing and yell things like "you don't understand me!" and stomp around, only to be in a perfectly normal disposition two minutes later. We finally bonded playing pirate swordfights and punching games. She then showed me her toys and the metal she won, and even said Good night to me in English. (It took her five minutes of standing there, and when she finally said the words, she scampered up the stairs in embarassment).

Anna is your typical teenager--it appears they are the same whether you are in the States or Europe. She takes hours getting ready and changes her outfit a few times a day. She thinks Americans are cool: She went to a Rhianna concert, watches One Tree Hill, speaks English well. Watching her reminds you all over what being a teenager was like.

And then there is Gerda and Morten. I really liked Gerda when I met her in Poland. She was so friendly and could get on with everyone, whether they were a flamboyant gay Spanish man or a Polish-American girl from New York City. But here, watching her in her real life, I am so impressed by her and the life she has created for herself.

She and Morten really work together as a team to manage their household. He cooks, she cooks. He cleans, she cleans. He takes care of the kids, she takes care of the kids. They have a warm, cozy home. Their kids are well-behaved and fun to be around. They have good jobs. They have a big car (that all their Euro friends turn up their noses at since it is not good for the environment) and yet they ride their bikes to work everyday (while their Euro friends drive). They take their kids to restaurants, they enjoy good food and good wine, they collect art and antiques, they vacation (looks like a trip to New York City is in the works). And while I know their lives are not perfect, it dawned on me that my last post was a bit naive. I wrote that I wanted to be a traveler and have the home and family, but I wasn't sure if I could have it all. But here, right in front of me, are Gerda and Morten, living both of my dreams at the same time and making it work. It finally clicked: It is not an either or situation. I can live the life the way I want.

When I have told people that I was visiting Brussels, I have gotten the following reactions:

"Don't go!"

"Brussels is my least favorite place in Europe!"

"It is dirty and dangerous there!"

"Belgium is like a third world country."

I did not have high expectations. I have checked out the city sights, and while it is not my favorite city, it is not so bad as what people say. However, what has made it phenomenal and has made it one of the highlights of my trip, is spending time and literally being inspired by these wonderful people.

Gerda, Morten, Anna and Katrine: Mange tak! You guys are the best!

Everyone looking miserable at the Atomium. From left to right, Katrine, Anna, Gerda and Morten.

Anna with a Belgian waffle.


Katrine, the pirate.

The girl who eats everything.

Empty mussel shells, at dinner.

Ask me where I see myself in ten years, and I can give you two answers with absolute certainty, depending on the day.

I will be a traveler, visiting places all over the globe, immersing myself in different cultures, meeting interesting people and writing all about it.

Or, I will be married with kids in a nice home with a big kitchen to bake and a outdoor patio and garden to entertain.

My goal is to somehow do both, but they seem to be complete opposites. It is my common quandry: I want to have it all.

For now I am living the traveler's route, and I have stumbled onto my second dream, right here in Brussels, Belgium. I am staying with Gerda, the Danish woman I met in Polish classes, who works in Brussels as a translator for the European Union. She lives with her husband Morten and daughters Anna, 15, and Katrine, 7, in a four-story home with a garden in the back. This family is my fantasy in real life.

Take this Sunday morning. Gerda made some fresh bread. Morten went out to get some danishes (which I learned are not really Danish). We ate breakfast in our pajamas and told funny stories until Anna and Katrine got into a dramatic argument about a toy which reminded me of the days when my own sister used to make me cry on a daily basis. And now as I write this post, I am listening to the girls practice piano: First Katrine who stumbles along the song she needs to practice this week, and then Anna who fills the entire home with her graceful and beautiful song. If this is not the perfect vision of home, I am unsure what is.

Gerda and Morten have been incredible hosts. They took me to a Danish Christmas fair, laughing that it is not very typical "Belgian." However, I wanted to see how they live and it was fun to see this hokey fair selling traditional food and decorations, kids running around with face paint, all to benefit the church. We got some Danish licorice, which I had to spit out, it was so horrible. (This a typical reaction of the non-Danish). They had purchased some tickets for the lottery, and Katrine was very upset when we did not win the toy she wanted, huffing and puffing with a sour face, walking ahead and kicking her feet in the mud. How unfair life can be for a 7-year-old!

The family is multi-lingual, languages changing like the breeze. Katrine speaks only Danish and French, so she looked at me suspiciously for the most of the day. I started taking some pictures of her and her toys and then did she start smiling at me. Her favorite thing to do is eat, and when her parents said we were going to a restaurant, she squealed with joy.

We went out for Belgium's specialty: mussels and fries (apparently, the french fry was actually invented here). And nothing shocked me more than seeing this 7-year-old pry ugly, slimy fish out of shells and eating them with delight. She even requested the adult portion instead of the kids portion, but her parents said no. My own mussels were pretty tasty and I even dipped my french fries in mayonaise--this the choice condiment around here. It was not as bad as expected though I wouldn't make a habit of eating fat dipped in fat.

And what would Belgium be without chocolate! Gerda showed me her favorite chocolate shop, which had samples for the taking. I had about three pieces in three minutes. As we walked through the city, there was one shop after the other, offering delicious delights but we were so full that it wasn't worth the indulgence. Instead we opted for hot chocolate, which wasn't the "good stuff," I was told, but made my stomach feel nice and warm. At the table was a stack of coasters. On the back of one was written something like "Do you want to fuck?"

Katrine, who couldn't read it, layed out all the coasters on the table and we all played a memory game, searching for the one with the obscenity.

"I don't know why we bother getting her real toys," Gerda laughed. We played a few times until Katrine cheated (acting like she didn't, of course!). And with a full belly, a pleasant buzz with the company, we went home and I slept like a baby.

Katrine, the eater.

Mmmm...chocolate. That's Gerda buying some.


French fries and mayo.

Speaking German

Jan makes dinner.


After making me a traditional German meal of egg noodles served with a meat that had the consistency of Spam, Steffi and Jan invited me out on the night on the town with their friends Toby and Tom. Steffi wore the new coat we picked out together at Zara. She bought a "serious" coat to make her look older. Now instead of 18, she looks 19. She's 24. The two boys added an element of fun to our group.

Toby is the type of person that walks around with a smile pasted on his face. Throughout the night, Toby was verbally abused by his friends for not liking animals, for only being interested in money and because he had recently cut his hair very short. Toby took the insults like a man and kept smiling.

Tom looked like an Angelic choir boy with little bangs and rosy lips, but his posture and demeanor said Benjamin Franklin. I couldn't figure out why until I realized he was wearing bifocals, which were propped in the middle of his nose, his eyebrows cocked when he was looking at someone, peering over his glasses with a suspicious look in his eyes.

He gave me such a look when he addressed me for the first time: "Did you see The Simpsons movie?"

"No," I said. His face fell.

"How can you not like The Simpsons?"

"I don't hate them, but I just don't watch them." I answered. "I hope it doesn't make you think any less of me."

He paused for a minute, as if considering. "No, it doesn't," he said finally.

"Well, why do you ask me if I have seen it?"

"There is this one part where Homer and Bart are on the roof," he explained, "and I have always wanted to know what Homer says to Bart in English and if it different than what he says in German."

"Have you been asking every American you meet about this?" I inquired.

He paused again. "Well, you are the first American I am asking, so yes, I am asking every American I meet." He smiled. He is planning to come to New York for an internship in the Spring and so I told him that I could ask some of the Simpson fans that I know to answer this question.

"Maybe I will ask them myself," Tom said.

I liked this guy immediately. He told me about terrible condition of the Germans, that they really were funny, but no one else in the world thought so.

Then we went on to talk about what German words I know.

"Do you know what Schadenfreuden means?" Steffi asked."You know, when someone is happy when something bad happens to another person?"

"Yes," I answered, "There is no English translation, so we use the German term. Maybe because Germans come up with words like this is the reason why no one thinks you are funny."

Jan told me that the German language is so precise that instruction manuals in English might be twice as long as if the same text was written in German. Then they told me about "mind-mapping" which is a type of brain-storming where you create a circle graphs to link your ideas together. They acted like Germans do this mind-mapping stuff all the time, but I think it's because they are students and they have to do it.

We walked back to the tram only to find we would have to wait an hour in the cold. So we did what every other person waiting for the tram did: Go to McDonald's. Eating some hamburgers at 1 in the morning; maybe Germans and Americans are not so different after all.

Me and Steffi.


Toby, Tom and Jan.

Falling apart and that's okay.

The Dom.

Last night I discovered a hole on the butt of one of my pair of jeans. This is the second pair of pants to deconstruct on this trip, but this one makes me mad because I literally bought these jeans three months ago and they were not cheap.

My clothes are turning into shreads, my computer is out of order, I am losing things left and right, my hair is taking a different direction every day. I am falling apart. I like traveling still but I am a little sick of sight seeing (the churches and museums are beginning to blur) and lately, I have been feeling most content talking with people and reading my book in a cafe. Emotionally, I am in a good place. I am happy with my travels. I am happy to go home. I listen to my ipod and all the songs that I used to play when I was mad or frustrated do not evoke much feeling in me anymore. I am happy, content, rested. This whole trip worked.

Given that I am not so ambitious as a traveler at the moment, it is fun that I am now visiting people that I know. That way, I can just spend lots of time with them and not feel obligated about seeing all the sights in town. In Cologne, I am visiting Steffi, the girl who I spent my birthday with, and her boyfriend Jan, who are both university students and live in a nice apartment just outside of downtown. (After seeing yet another great apartment, I have decided that Dan and my apartment must be the smallest apartment in the entire world.)

When I arrived, they were busy doing the things that students are busy with, so I ventured into this surprisingly bustling town on my own to sight-see because even though I do not have the same enthusasium as I used to, I still do it and I still like doing it. Cologne is the fourth biggest city in Germany, but for me, it might as well be New York City. From the moment I stepped off the train, I was accousted by people rushing past me and pushing me aside. Walking around the shopping distict of the city was no different. Where are all of these people coming from? After buying a winter hat (finally!) I bumped into a large mass of females clutching cameras in their hands.

'What is going on?' I asked someone.

'The Backstreet Boys are signing autographs!' was the response.

I checked out the impressive Dom, the biggest cathedral in all of Germany, and today, along with about 600 schoolchildren, I went to the Chocolate Museum, where I learned about the history of chocolate and the growing of the cocoa bean (which had all these pictures of Africans wearing ripped clothing and talked about how conditions are terrible on the farms and there is a problem with child labor). That made me feel guilty. After that, they push you in a room where chocolate is being made and the intoxicating aroma made me forget about the African exploitation. I think they did that on purpose.

Besides that, I have just been leisurely hanging out with Steffi and Jan. We had some pizza and nice conversation at the student bar. Steffi and I looked for a winter coat--for her. I even had some alone time in Starbucks with my book. I did not see everything in Cologne and I don't have to. Because now, this pace feels just fine.

The Berliner: A donut covered in rough sugar with an explosion of jelly inside.



Shopping in Cologne.




Jan and Steffi.

Things to be thankful for.

It is Thanksgiving. While my family is eating tons of turkey and the five desserts my mother prepared for eight people (see where I get my sweet-tooth from?), it feels like any other typical day in Germany.

Today I had a nice online chat with Madhur_163318 who works at Dell. This person made me do some tests on my computer that caused shrieking beeps that awoke the entire household (I now visiting Steffi and her boyfriend Jan in lovely Cologne). My computer failed the test. According to Madhur_163318, my LCD has gone bad, and it will need to be replaced.

'Nothing to worry about,' he wrote, 'A service technician will come to replace it.'

But will he come to Germany??!!

I had to wait a few minutes and apparently yes, I can get my LCD replaced here but I would need to stay in one place for a minimum of 8 days. After filling in Maddie (we became close) on my travel itinerary for the next few weeks, I won't be any one place for 8 days, so it looks like I will have to spend the next three and a half weeks carrying a broken computer on my back until I reach the States. At least it is covered by my warranty.

Things to be thankful for. As Juan-Carlos, the man from Panama, wrote me: 'Hey, your computer crashed. At least you have a computer.'

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.