The Books: Part 1: Amsterdam

Amsterdam in the Netherlands. St. Andrews in Scotland. Both insanely beautiful. Each with its own unique personality. As everyone knows, Amsterdam has a personality. It seems though that within that, everyone finds his/her own definition and experience of the city. My friends and I stayed at the Flying Pig hostel, which was my first hostel experience, and the hostel definitely contributed to my overall impression of Amsterdam. The bar within the hostel was really laid-back, and an environment in which it was easy and exciting to meet people from all over the world. One night we spent some time with a group of guys from Spain who surprised their friend for his Bachelor party and flew everyone to Amsterdam for the weekend. Apparently a Spanish Bachelor party in Amsterdam consists of as many Yaeger bombs as there are countries in Europe and the about-to-be-married-man in a bull fighting costume, which he then changes out of and gives to someone else for the night. Well, at least that’s what we witnessed. Another late night, relaxing at the hostel, we met two very philosophical British men who insisted we write down books to read and movies to see and then email them with our reflections. I even received some personalized psychoanalysis input. The exercise began with imagining a cube in a desert. Then, the size and color indicated certain aspects. A car-sized blackish-green cube entered my mind. Size represents ego, and therefore my ego is a bit over medium, because it was not the size of something like an ant, but it also wasn’t a building. The colors were particularly interesting to my British analyzer, but he came to the conclusion that the green represented my organic and true nature, while the black exposed a bit of a guard that I put up. Anyway, it was a conversation I enjoyed and would have never expected to have. Nonetheless, the hostel was of course not the only venue visited in Amsterdam. Much of my time was spent exploring by walking. While it was quite confusing to have tons of canals when I am used to one river helping me locate myself in Paris, the canals gave the city an earthy feel. Since buildings and homes line the canals, creating a paradoxical harsh and quaint neighbor to the water, they create an almost cartoonish land in which one traverses. The large groups of swans add to that setting. The red-light district throws off your comfort, but also peeks interest because of its insane history. The Van Gough museum added even more beauty to the already attractive Amsterdam. Dynamic is the best word I can find to define the experience, the culture, the city.

The First Bookend: Parisian Date

Apologies for the belatedness, it became one of those things that I kept putting off because it had been so long and I had so much to catch up on that I didn’t want to face it. Thus, here I am, now with much to relate, so I might split it up. The first part will consist of Parisian outings bookending European traveling, and the second will hope to include the rest since those events. As usual, the French men appropriately infiltrate my blog entries. Before leaving Paris I was asked out on my first Parisian date, French man and all. I met this homme at a concert a few weeks earlier, and that night I spent time with him and a group of friends enjoying some great European electronic music and speaking French; I couldn’t ask for much more. Over French text message conversations we agreed to meet at a bar in my neighborhood (the 6th). I arrived. 15 minutes later, he arrived. We walked in and cozyied up in the corner. Once situated, we headed to the bar and spoke with the bartender about a good dry red wine we could drink. My date looked to me for an opinion, however as I informed him, my wine experience is quite minimal, so he was alone on the decision-making. Back to the table, bottle of wine and two glasses in hand, there I was, on my date—a place unfamiliar, a man unfamiliar, a concept (the date) unfamiliar. Pleasantly surprised aptly describes my impression of the whole experience. We ended up talking, yes in French, for 3 hours. While the chemistry was not apparent, my date’s goofiness was a blast and quite refreshing. After, he walked me towards my apartment, we “bise”-ed (cheek kisses) goodnight, and he said he would like if I called when I returned, but it was up to me. A day later, trusty facebook informed me of a couple of facts, the first being that my French date had friended me on the site, the second being his birthday—1980. At that moment, that made him 10 years older. Also, it should be noted that he definitely knew my age, because we discussed my upcoming birthday. Therefore, although I was just becoming fully adjusted to Paris, the timing of my 2-week trip to Amsterdam and St. Andrews came in a timely fashion, so that I could put off facing the 30-year-old man situation.