Goodnight and The End

The Amsterdam sun waited until after 10pm before it retreated below the horizon.  The longer days were a welcome gift as every hour that passed was inevitably taking us one step closer to the end of our time together in Europe.  We made the most of every minute of daylight.  But even as the last streaks of twilight faded dark and night invaded the sky, Amsterdam came alive with a new kind of magic. 

The reflection of city lights danced on the water enchanting our midnight stroll home.  

Back on the deck of our cozy boat, we lit candles and talked until the lids of our eye grew heavy.  It didn't take long considering the number of miles we had covered over the course of the day. 

The view from our boat was peaceful and still.  Every so often, a passing duck would paddle by leaving ripples on the water's surface obscuring the reflection of trees and lights.  

Our sleeping cabin.

One by one, we'd blow out the candles and cuddle down into our sleeping bags, shutting our eyes to another wonderful day of memories together.  

We left Amsterdam on Saturday, May 28th 2016.  The train took us back to Berlin where we packed up the suitcases I was charged with bringing back to the US.  Fritz was sending me home a month ahead of him so I could prepare for our August wedding while he finished his research in the archives.  

Even now, half a year later, I can remember the ache deep in my core.  I remember the pointless attempts both of us made at trying to disguise our tears as I weaved through the security line at the Berlin Airport, desperately savoring every last glance I could get of my love who watched me shuffle through the metal detectors and out of sight.   

What do you say at the end of a year like we had?  How can I begin to recap the memories that Fritz and I made together?  How do I summarize what we learned about Germany?  About the world?  Is it possible to articulate the perspective that making a life abroad provided?  How do I encompass the richness gained from the friendships we made in this place?   Is it even possible to express what we learned about ourselves and the love we share for one another?  I suspect I could continue to write for the next 3 years and still not fully unpack everything these journeys in Germany have given us as we embark on our next adventure as a married couple.  I suppose, for now, the best I can do is echo Fritz's words and simply say, "Thanks for a great stay and we hope we can come back sometime soon!"

The end...

... or perhaps the beginning.

Sex, Drugs and Amsterdam

Now we mustn't be naive.  Amsterdam is lovely with charming canals and quaint brick architecture, but it's also the home of legalized prostitution and marijuana sales.  What's crazy is that you could roam the streets for several days and actually think a pair of barefooted jugglers was the most exotic thing you'd stumbled upon.  That's assuming, of course, that you managed to miss a certain section of town known for a more scandalous approach to entertainment. 

One minute you are winding along watching some people in a raft and then...

WHAMMO!!  Psychedelic drugs and magic mushrooms are for sale before your very eyes.  

The other thing on display can be seen posing in a window wearing next-to-nothing while casually giving a group of overeager bachelors the middle finger.  That's for real.  You can literally go window shopping for sex on a street that is half a block away from a gorgeous old church.  You can read about it all you want in preparation, but stumbling on a woman adjusting the string of her undies in real life while you are casually strolling down the street is a new kind of experience.  

No wonder they post little blue signs suggesting that young children be escorted by an adult. 

We learned that in Amsterdam, there is a difference between a café and a coffee shop.  Up until this trip, I just thought "café" was a snazzier, French-er way to describe a place where I plan to ingest caffeine.  This is not the case in Amsterdam.  Cafés are where you drink coffee while reading a book, and coffee shops (or coffee houses) are where you smoke marijuana.  Big difference.

They aren't discrete either.  But I guess they really don't need to be considering everything is legal. 

We didn't spend too much time in the Red Light District, just enough to say we had seen it.  We did a little investigating in some of the less-sketchy shops.  This one sold a cheerful combination of art, drugs, candles, incense, and various books on holistic medicine, meditation, and other such topics.  The shop had an open sitting area with cozy benches and a view of the water where you could sit and enjoy whatever drug you fancied that day.  The whole thing was a bit surreal.  It was all very casual and a bit of a perspective shift compared to the more conservative US attitude I was accustomed to.  It's an interesting experience to find yourself in a place where all the usual taboos no longer apply.  

Rub-a-dub-dub, Nude in a Public Tub

Considering we stayed in Amsterdam for more than a few days, I'm sure you are all wondering how we managed to clean ourselves given our showerless-boat living accommodations.  We did not bathe in the canal, if that was your guess.  Our boat might not have had plumbing, but its owner was very thoughtful and left laminated pamphlets (lest they should fall into the canal) on places her guests could go for a shower.  There were 3 options.  

We decided on the shower that was about two and a half miles from our boat- partly because it was one of the closer options and partly because it was one of the cheaper options.  At 2.50 euros plus an extra euro to rent a towel, we were sold.  

"Badhuis" can be translated to bath house in English.  It was an interesting establishment comprised of 3 sections. 

The entrance contained a small laundromat as well as the front desk (Section 1).  You had to talk to the man at the desk in order to get a key to the showers which were through a door not pictured to the immediate left (Section 2).  The door at the far end of the room next to the two dryers was the entrance to the sauna (Section 3).  The sauna also had showers, but we would have had to pay 12 euros to get into those.  We didn't need to be that fancy and mostly wanted to hit the town and see the sights.  The first day we used the cheap showers. 

We returned on the second day, which happened to be a Friday.  Apparently, people in Amsterdam don't take showers on Fridays.  (That is not actually true, but it was the only conclusion I could draw based on the operating hours of this bathhouse.)  The man at the desk told us the showers were closed; however, the sauna was open.  After a brief exchange, we decided a clean body after sleeping in a boat was worth the 12 euros.

We turned to the man at the desk and confirmed our intent to use the sauna.  This prompted the man to ask us where we were from, sensing from our accents that we were not locals.  We said the US and watched as his face took on a very direct and serious expression.  Looking directly into our eyes, he said in his own heavy accent, "When using the sauna, you must be naked."  

I can't remember if I laughed out loud at the time, but when I think about the exchange now it always makes me giggle a little.  He continued to further break down the rules of the sauna- you may wear your towel in the common area, you must wear your towel in the outdoor garden, you may not wear your towel in the steam room, you must sit on top of your towel in the sauna, etc.  We nodded our understanding, handed him our money and he gave us a key. 

I should tell you that neither Fritz nor I had ever been to a co-ed nude sauna before.  The bathhouse in Budapest required that guests wear bathing suits which made the experience not unlike visiting a fancy public pool.  There was next to no risk of expanding the bounds of our comfort zones in deciding to go there.  But this was a whole new bar of soap. 

The locker room.  For obvious reasons, there are limited photos documenting this experience.

We entered a tiny co-ed locker room, which I can now say was the hardest part of the whole experience.  There were two older men already in there, each one in some stage of undressing.  Where do you look?  I turned to stare at the row of lockers and opened one at random where I spent way more time than was actually necessary putting my things inside (my coat, my purse, and my camera).  I opened my purse, closed my purse, moved my phone to a different pocket, applied chapstick, moved my coat to the opposite hook.  I realized I was not willing to take off my clothes while the old guys were still in the locker room.  

As it turns out, taking off your clothes in front of strangers is way worse than being naked in front of strangers.  

Thankfully the two men completed the task of undressing and left the locker room.  Once naked, Fritz and I wrapped our towels around our bodies and quietly schemed about how we were going to play this.  

"Well, we're here.  We paid for the sauna.  Why just take a shower and leave?  Might as well do the whole thing."  

We were in agreement.  Fritz suggested that we should do the steam room first, then the sauna.  There was also a cool pool where you could take a dip between hot rooms, but despite the reported health benefits of temperature shocking your system, I had no interest in the cool pool.  We hung our towels on a hook and opened the door to the steam room.  The thick fog rushed to escape through the open door and the tiny room cleared enough to reveal a space smaller than the tiniest half-bathroom you have ever seen where 3 naked men over 65 sat with their legs spread on the wooden benches.  Upon seeing a lady, all three of them shifted their positions to make room for me and Fritz and to discreetly close their legs.  Again I found myself asking, where do you look?  Fritz and I sat down and assumed the only position that felt even remotely natural- legs crossed, arms resting on legs, eyes cast downward in a blank stare.  The other men assumed similar poses.  

We sat in silence for I'm not sure how long.  After a while, it was hard to tell if the liquid coating my skin was my own sweat or condensation from the steam in the air.  When it started getting difficult to breathe, Fritz and I used the kind of telepathy that comes after spending 9 months in Europe with the one you love and reached for the door of the tiny steam room. 

We rinsed off before moving on to the sauna (another rule from the establishment) and were happy to find it empty.  The privacy was nice considering there was no steam to obscure one's vision in this space.  The lights were low, but the air was clear.  We discussed the apparent lack of women present in the bathhouse, but before we could do much chatting, a new naked guy walked in.  Silence and downward gazes again.  

Determined to make the most of my first sauna experience, I did my best to settle into myself, release the self-consciousness that had been overwhelming my thoughts, and observe my own breath.  Having Fritz next to me made it a bit easier to relax.  I had nothing to fear.  I realized that the only thing I needed to do in this situation was to get over myself.  It wasn't as if I hadn't seen naked people before, but I hadn't spent much time where people could see me in my birthday suit.  It was my own prudish American embarrassment that was keeping me from fully experiencing the sauna.  I adopted an attitude of "who cares?" and sunk into a state of true relaxation.  

We stayed until the heat became uncomfortable and again exchanged the glance that said, "I'm ready when you are."  We gathered our towels and headed to the shower room.  

The final stage of our sauna experience took place in a square room containing 8 shower heads.  I guess if you just sat naked on a bench next to a dude, it doesn't make much sense to get bashful in the showers.  Needless to say, there were no curtains or stalls.  We scrub-a-dubbed quickly and exited back into the tiny locker room.  Feeling refreshed and accomplished with a new experience under our belts, we departed from the bathhouse and headed into town.  

Bicycle, BICYCLE!

Fritz and I might have put a lot of miles on our sneakers during our stay, but the rest of Amsterdam was commuting on two wheels.  Bikes were EVERYWHERE!  

Gas is expensive in Europe and perhaps even more pricey in the Netherlands so the people have selected a more fuel-efficient approach to transportation.  It probably helps that the city is so lovely, the weather is fairly temperate, and parking is nearly impossible.  There were bike lanes all over and there were even some roads that were completely restricted to bikes only- no cars allowed.  As a walker, the bike traffic was somewhat terrifying at times.  At one point in our travels, Fritz labeled bikes "The Silent Killer" because you can't really hear them approaching from behind and they don't necessarily follow the "rules of the road," often riding on sidewalks and taking corners at top speeds.  

If I added up all the bicycles I have seen over the course of my entire life, I'm certain it would not equal the sheer volume that I saw in a single day on the streets of Amsterdam.   Naturally, I took pictures.

Many bikes had baskets.  The plastic milk basket attached by bungee chords was the most popular. 

Some baskets were made of straw and decorated with a silk floral garnish. 

Some baskets were more like wagons and came with their own kickstand.  

Some bikes were made of wood.

Some bikes had vintage leather handle bars.  

Some had vintage leather seats. 

Many bikes had headlights. 

Nearly every bike had a bell. 

Some bells were new and shiny. 

Others had been through a few seasons.

Consequently, nearly every picture we took in Amsterdam included a bike... or twelve. 

Amsterdam Reflections

I'm sitting down to compose these last posts nearly six months after leaving Europe, so you must forgive me if some of the details have gotten a bit hazy.  I will do my best to dust off my memories because Amsterdam certainly deserves the shiniest of reflections.   

Our train arrived in the afternoon and we had a decent walk to what would be our "lodging" for the next couple of days.  A bit weary from the train ride and the walk, we rounded the final corner and crossed a bridge where young kids in rafts were racing to discover...

...our home.  

That's right.  My adventurous, romantic, and thoughtful fiancé arranged for our Euro train trip to conclude afloat in a motorless boat in an Amsterdam canal.  I realize some might look at this setup and decide that the two of us had lost our marbles at this point in our travels, but honestly, this was AWESOME!  

It wasn't a big boat, as you can see.  But it was enough for two kids in love. 

Above deck.  The boat potty is in the little cabinet on my left.

The boat had two sections.  The first was above deck- a covered area lined with benches for sitting, a small table, and a tiny closet containing a bucket fashioned with a mini toilet seat over the opening.  The "boat potty" was probably one of the more adventurous components of our living arrangement.  You do your business on the bucket, tidy up with biodegradable TP, and then toss the contents overboard.  Note to self: do not go swimming in the canals of Amsterdam.   

The second section was below deck- a locked cabin containing a non-working sink (there was no running water or plumbing on the boat), a working propane stove, and padded benches that we converted into beds at night.  

The stove.

The sink.  You can get a sense of how low the ceiling was in this photo.

Our beds.

The boat's owner was incredibly thoughtful.  She had all kinds of homey touches and the boat was well stocked with candles (very helpful considering there was no electricity), vases of silk flowers, and useful tourist information including a handful of locations where guests could find a shower.  More details on the showering experience will come later.  

It was like camping with candles and cacti! 

Fritz might have been a little bit long for the "beds" but we made it work.  Our host included extra blankets and sleeping bags, which were great considering we did not come prepared with bedding.  In the mornings, the cabin glowed with a golden light that streamed through the yellow curtains.  It was perfect!

 And let's not forget to mention that we had the most lovely neighbors.   Isabelle pictured above and her husband Mr. Mallard checked in on us regularly.  

Our boat was just south of the city proper and our walks into town always brought us past the iconic "I amsterdam" sign in front of the Rijksmuseum where hundreds of people were constantly posing for pictures.  

We walked everywhere.  I think we averaged at least 15 miles a day and even passed the 20-mile mark a few days (thanks FitBit for keeping track)!  I wouldn't want to do it any other way though.  The city was simply gorgeous in a way that was completed different from Paris or any of the other European cities we visited.  The canals lined with old brick row houses gave the streets an aesthetic that was equal parts quaint and stunning. 

Some stretches of the canal have house boat after house boat.  And I don't mean the kind of boat we are staying in.  These are full-size abodes complete with roof gardens, decks, and patio furniture.  We didn't go inside any of them, but I made sure to shamelessly gawking into any unshuttered windows to get a sense for houseboat décor.  

It was difficult to restrain myself from taking pictures.  It was just beautiful everywhere we turned. 

We made up for all our walking by stopping at one of the numerous Amsterdam frite stands.  These people love their fries!  In the US you might find hot dog stands in the city.  In Germany, there are wurst carts everywhere.  The Dutch skip the meat and stick to good ol' fried potato.  We followed the local custom and dipped our frites in mayo while we walked... probably on our way to the next meal. 

Our first dinner in Amsterdam consisted of a plate of finger-licking-good ribs in a very old pub.

It wasn't hard to work up an appetite with all the walking we were doing.  On one particularly hungry afternoon, we thought about making a healthy choice when we saw a Juice and Salad bar across the busy street we were walking down.  

The trouble was... before we managed to cross over, Thrill Grill appeared on our side of the street.  Who can pass up a burger joint with the tagline, "For the love of burgers"?  Not me!  

So we sat in the window and enjoyed our decadent burgers while staring through the window at the Juice & Salad.  So much for healthy choices.  

We explored some of the cafés and bars too.  This hipster spot was in the middle of Westerpark, a long stretch of greenery in the northwest part of the city.  

We were thrilled to meet up with Evan, who came to town for a business meeting that coincided perfectly with our visit.  Evan lives in London now, but grew up in Holland and therefore could order our drinks in Dutch.  He has managed to visit us quite a bit during our stay in Europe.  It's an extra special treat to share a memory with a friend when you are so far from home.