Home Again...for a night

Chicago was really good in the end. I got irritated with myself for choosing it when it was all sex innuendo and lingerie for the first few numbers. The music and choreography were engrossing and unforgettable, though. The second act especially rocked, with huge songs, glitter, and great showmanship. London said goodbye with a bang.

The Cambridge Theater

The next morning I got up on time and headed out. I said goodbye to my spartan little room in Elizabeth House. Did I mention I was staying in a little bed and breakfast near Victoria Station? This place was low budget. The chairs in the breakfast rooms often lost their seats, and one of them gave me a massive splinter. I made it through breakfast and then went upstairs to perform surgery with tweezers. I turned in my key to the empty desk and headed to the train station.

Sad to leave London, not Elizabeth House

For the first time on this trip, my plans to be early worked. By 6:53 I was at Victoria Station, which conveniently offered Gatwick Express trains every 15 minutes to Gatwick Airport (directly into the terminal--beautiful). I took the 7:00 train and was at Gatwick at 7:30. The airport was a zoo, so I was glad I got there early. My flight was scheduled to leave at 10:40, so I had time to kill. I shopped around and had a nice breakfast before going to my gate.

The plane was late. I had an aisle seat, which was great because I got up to go to the bathroom at least once an hour. I drank and ate everything they offered me, and watched two movies, not in the mood for reading. The huge tome I'd brought with me was Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov. I thought it was so smart to bring a huge book, because I'd be on trains and planes and wanting entertainment. Too bad over the month I only read about 100 pages, falling alseep each ten. By the end of the flight I had the feeling I was breathing all used air, and started getting a headache. Please, Lord, let this plane land soon.

Despite being late, my plane made it to Charlotte with enough time for me to bust through baggage claim, customs, rechecking my bag, and security. I was back in the States. My flight from Charlotte to Florida was fine, and then I was home.

In the air

On the ground

Home didn't last long. I thought we were leaving on Friday for the lake, but it turned out we were leaving Thursday. We'd go first to Savannah, then to the lake on Friday. So I enjoyed one luxurious evening in my sweet bed, and got over my jet lag.

The next morning was a comedy of errors. I'd been looking forward to several things at home: my bed, good coffee, a nice long bath, and doing laundry. (Well, I'd also been looking forward to seeing friends and family, but you know, first things first.) I actually woke up with a little backache. After my little prison bed at Elizabeth House, my awesome sleigh bed was too soft. Then I went downstairs, poured a bowl of cereal, sat down, and spit it out. The milk was sour. Then, no cream for the coffee. Mom had sweetened condensed milk, but she forgot to shake it so it was kind of gooey and lumpy in the coffee I'd been craving. I started a load of laundry and then went upstairs to bathe. I used the bathroom first and went to wash my hands, but only air came from the tap. I checked all the sinks--nothing. Somehow, in the move to their new office, my parents had neglected to change the billing address for the water bill. They hadn't paid, and so the water had been turned off. No laundry, no bath.

I hope you'll agree this was just ridiculous. Home sweet home.

Anyway we went to my grandparents' house last night and today we're headed to Elijah Clark State Park, just outside Lincolnton, GA. We'll spend a week at the lake, enjoying the boat, skiing, fishing, wakeboarding, and tubing. A lot of the family will be there at least for part of it, so you know it will be a circus. I'm excited. I'll update you guys when I get back, unless I'm hospitalized for neck injury, whiplash, or sunburns. Woohoo!

Last Day

Last night after blogging I went to the Westminster Palace, home of the Houses of Parliament. Finally, after their being busy all day, I got a chance to see British government in action. I went into the House of Commons, the more rowdy and interesting of the two houses. It was nearly 9:30 p.m.; the House closes officially at 10:30. The place was smaller than I'd imagined, and full of ceremony. All of the Members of Parliament weren't there, but it was still fun. My two favorite parts: the dripping irony with which the opposition sometimes addresses the government official speaking, and the Speaker of the House. The Speaker has a thick brogue, and he presides over the whole affair. Near the end, it's his job to close certain business ("the debate") by putting the question. He actually posed about ten questions, and they all went something like this: "As to the....All in favor? (Aye, aye) Opposed--(he doesn't even break, really)--I believe the ayes have it, the ayes have it." Every time. Here are a few nighttime views from Westminster Pier.

For my last day in London and abroad I gave myself the luxury of sleeping in. I've noticed that I'm getting tired, running out of steam on this grand adventure. So I slept an extra 40 or so minutes this morning, and it felt great. I couldn't sleep through the smell of toast, though. Mmm, bread.

My first stop was once again Westminster Pier, for British Airways London Eye. I stepped into a little capsule and went round on this huge bicycle wheel for 360 degree views of London's skyline. The London Eye is the tallest thing around, so you get great pictures. It was impressive and fun. The second half of the spin was not surprisingly less fun than the first. I started thinking about the trip ending. This sort of marks the beginning of the downspin half of my summer, where I'll do more looking back than ahead. I still have the lake, but school haunts: only one month left of this blissful summer.

After my spin, I headed out to market. It was quite an experience. I hit the whole spectrum, from Pinto to Ferrari. I started at Old Spitalfields. The vendors have booths and do their best to display their wares for buyers. Here you can haggle.

Next I hit Covent Garden. Moving on up, this place felt like a Park Ave. It had nice, permanent stores like Lush and Gap along with street vendors and artisans. I enjoyed looking around, as much at the people as the merchandise.


I walked to Picadilly Circus and took the tube to Queensbridge, where the place to go is Harrods. Harrods is Saks on steroids. You're struck by the massive place immediately, and intimidated by the impressive show of luxury cars parked VIP-style in the street, drivers waiting.

There are seven floors to the most elaborate and expensive department store I have ever visited. Lucky for me, they were having their only sale of the year--a huge, up to 50% off sale. The trouble is you're looking at dresses by Valentino, bags by Gucci and Hermes, suits by Armani himself. And the dollar is currently crap compared to the pound sterling. So I look at a beautiful coat, and find the tag: £1010. Wait, it's minus 50%: £505. Then convert to dollars: £1010 or even more now. I was surrounded by beautiful Arabian people who weren't even carrying their bags. They had checked them. I saw a purser pushing out a large crate that you might find at the end of a forklift, full of Harrod's packages. Once again, I was out of my league. That's okay, I'm not sure I want to be in that league. I wouldn't mind having a Gucci bag and shoes, though.

Scary. Waxen Mr. Fayed welcomes people to his store.

Tonight I'm going to grab a quick dinner and finish this trip in true London style--at the theater. I'm seeing Chicago. I wasn't an enormous fan of the movie, but I really like the music and it's London's biggest show. I'll have to post the pictures later, I guess. They are taking too long to upload and I've got to get to the show. Tomorrow morning early, I'm heading home. Thanks to all of you for your comments and for reading. It has been fun letting all of you in on this amazing journey. Should I continue blogging? I'm not sure my regularly-scheduled life is that exciting.

Thanks to Mom and Dad for an awesome gift. Thanks to God for traveling mercies. Home again, home again...soon.

ESPNLondon

Sorry it's taken me so long to write a new post. I've been a busy girl, and have lots to fill you guys in on. Here's the highlights reel. Well, highlights and then some; now that I am finished and looking back at it, it's more like the entire game.

I went to the Tower of London this morning. A Beefeater yelled a tour of the place. There are about 150 Beefeaters who live in the Tower, and they serve as guides and hosts to the Tower's guests. My guide was pretty sassy. At one point he asked a lady to put away her video camera because he doesn't like those things pointed at him. Hmm. In addition to the Beefeaters, the Tower is home to the Crown Jewels, eight ravens, an armory museum, and a lot of bloody history. William the Conqueror built it as a fortress, complete with prison tower, executioners block (where several nobles lost their heads), and stinky feces-filled double moat. Pretty impressive.

With a Beefeater

The White Tower, the Tower of London's major landmark

After the Tower I cruised the Thames River to Westminster Pier. It was sort of a dreary day, but a fun ride and neat view of the city. Once ashore, I walked up to Westminster Abbey. This place is all at once very beautiful and just a little bit weird. It was built by William the Confessor, and has held every royal coronation since his (he crowned himself). It also holds the remains of some famous dead, including Bloody Mary and Elizabeth I (both queens). In Poet's Corner I stared at monuments honoring Chaucer (buried there), Dickens, Shakespeare, Browning, Shelley, the Brontes, Wordsworth, Handel, and many more. I stayed for Evensong, my second ever Anglican service (the first was a wedding). It was impressive. I was there early enough--having stayed--to get a coveted seat in the choir loft. The boys/mens choir came in and filled in near me. There was responsive reading and singing, and it was all really beautiful. I really loved watching the little boys. They did a Magnificat in another language, really staccato, and made the best faces. Except for this one little Asian boy on the front row, who sang all his parts but looked bored out of his mind.

After Evensong I did Rick Steves' Westminster Walk from the Abbey, Houses of Parliament and Big Ben to Trafalgar Square. On the way I saw cool old buildings, monuments, and #10 Downing Street, home of the UK's new Prime Minister. Trafalgar Square was filled with people when I got there. They were hosting a pre-Tour de France event. I didn't realize that the Grand Depart was taking place in London this weekend. When these terrible dancers came out, dressed like road (gray suits, white stripe down the center) I couldn't handle it anymore and left. I walked home on the Mall past Buckingham Palace.

The next morning I headed to Henley for the Royal Regatta. Yes that's right. I am here in London at the crossroads of some very important events: Wimbledon, the Tour de France, the Henley Royal Regatta, and the Justin Timberlake Concert at the new O2. I'd heard from my seat friend on the Eurostar that I had to get to the Regatta, to have a look at English society.

I had to make two trips to the station, because the first time I left my Tube card and I was too impatient and stubborn to wait in the long lines to pay for a single pass. (Too thrifty also--I'd already paid for the week, why pay more because I'm forgetful?) Finally, out of Paddington Station, I was on my way. On the train I was suddenly surrounded by all these chic young people. I felt very conspicuous, very American. At least I'd worn a dress. My denim jacket felt like a neon sign. The men were mostly wearing jackets with their nice shirts, some ties. Bottles of wine were opened before we left the station, and I noticed most people carried grocery bags. Picnic lunches--how could I not know?--crap! The ladies dressed ranged from hip, slightly slutty to did-you-just-pull-that-out-of-your-grandmothers-dress-up-box? prim. They looked like they'd been dressed by costume designers from Amanda Bynes' movie, What a Girl Wants. They even had hats. The cutest ones were more suggestions of hats than real hats: stiff circular bows, trimmed with feathers or ribbon.

Dressy, dressy. Notice hats on left. Lady on right shares my denim dilemma.

Stripes! Some of them wore ties that perfectly matched the jackets.

I was way out of my league. As I got out at the station and took a bathroom break (always a good decision) I made up my mind to have a good time. I wasn't easily convinced. I noticed that most people had little paper shields pinned to their dress straps or lapels, almost like gift tags. Where could I get tagged? I walked over the bridge, catching sight of the grand festivities, and headed toward the sales tent. "This stand is for members, only members can buy. I'm sorry, but all of the public stands are sold out today," a kind lady told me. "But you can walk along the footpath. It's quite nice."

So I headed off. Actually, being alone, this was by far the best way to go. I walked the entire length of the regatta, watching the racers row by in turn. I passed very posh people at the start. Men looked very proud to have on loud magenta and green striped coats, or carnation pink blazers with matching ties--oarsmen with fine tradition. The hats got bigger as the ladies got older. As I walked further along away from the members area and toward the start, the crowd got decidedly less genteel. I even saw girls in just their bathing suit tops and shorts. Shabby and improper. I had a good time, and headed back to the city a little early.

Back in town, I headed to Leicester Square in the heart of the West End theater district. I ate a little picnic dinner in Trafalgar Square, and then got tickets for the new show, "In Celebration!" This show's main draw for me is that it was starring Orlando Bloom. That's right. I paid a nice fee to sit for two hours 50 feet away from Orlando Bloom in person. The play was good, despite all that. It was about family relationships, which is always an interesting subject. Did I mention I saw Orlando Bloom in person? There were girls in the audience who looked like they'd dressed expecting him to ask them out from the stage.

Fountain in Trafalgar Square. Note the Tour de France stands behind.

The next morning I headed to the Mall near Buckingham Palace to watch some behind the scenes action before the Tour de France Stage One left. The riders were all in and out of their buses, getting interviewed, and talking a little with fans. I stood next to a cycling enthusiast who helped clue me in to everything (very helpful). I saw Fabian Cancellara, the rider who won the Prologue, wearing his yellow jersey. It was a good, laid-back location for up-close views.

When they left, riding toward Greenwich and the official start, I headed to the Cabinet War Rooms and Churchill Museum. If you visit London, go here--whether you think you're interested or not. It is an incredible, interactive, and informative place with a really cool, subdued feel. It's one of my favorite museums on this trip littered with the great European museums.

I left WWII and headed to London Bridge and the Old Operating Theater. This place was really fun for me. It is a museum to the old practice of medicine, surgery, and training medical students. It's loaded with herbs (medicines for the humours), equipment, and photos. I'm very glad to be learning medicine now, rather than then. At that time consenting to surgery was basically agreeing to physician-assisted suicide. I read patient notes that made me shudder.

View the students would have had: patient on wooden table, no anesthesia, physician's cane between the teeth for pain, sawdust box below to catch running blood.

I ate lunch overlooking the Thames and then crossed the Millenium Bridge, aka the Blade of Light or Wobbly-Twobbly, to St. Peters and back.

Millenium Foot Bridge

Then I hit Tate Modern for a look at art from the last century. In my hour and a half blitz I only saw two galleries, but they included incredible works by artists such as Jackson Pollock, Henri Mattise, Pablo Picasso, and Marc Chagall. If I have any time left over tomorrow, I think I'll go back.

Tate closed just in time for me to walk back over to the Globe Theater to watch Shakespeare's Othello. As I walked in I felt like I was walking either back in history or onto the set of Shakespeare in Love. But it was real. I was too late to get one of the cheap standing-only tickets; instead I sat comfortably on a rented cushion in the back with a great view of the stage. The play was just okay, I'm sad to say. Iago was incredible, as were Rodorigo and Cassio. The girls were pretty good, but Othello just didn't quite hit it. His voice was too soft for the Moor.

This morning I did a double decker tour and then watched the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. In other words, I was definitively a tourist. A little bored with the grand procession, I headed off to the British Library.

They say that Britain's greatest contribution is in its written word, despite all its imperialistic history. As an English major and long-time lover of books and words, I'd have to agree. The British Library literally has a treasure chest room, housing incredible works. Here's a snapshot of just a few of the hand-written things: Handel's Messiah; Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre; Lewis Carroll's diary where he writes of finishing writing down Alice's Adventures; the Beatles lyrics of Yesterday, Help! (in marker, I think), and others; letters from Queen Elizabeth I, Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, Beowulf, the Magna Carta and lots of other stuff. In print, one of the first Gutenberg Bibles, a first printing of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass, and other illuminated and sacred texts. I had a ball.

In the afternoon I went to Kensington Gardens, and looked at Kensington Palace, which was once the home of the late Princess Diana. The people still mourn her. I walked to the Orangery, just behind the palace, for high tea. It was very pleasant, and very expensive. Definitely something you have to do at least once. I did champagne tea: a flute of champagne, pot of tea, cucumber sandwiches, scone with clotted cream and berries, and chocolate cake. It's very traditional. Let's face it--it was dinner.

High Tea at Orangery

That brings us up to date! I know this was long, so sorry about that. I only have about 40 hours left on this amazing adventure. I'm doing much better than I even expected alone. My little room is a nice home base. London is a great city alone, because there's enough to keep me constantly busy and surrounded by other people. I'm minding the gap at stations, feeling safe even at night (though I'm on guard, don't worry), and am even getting the hang of looking the right direction when crossing the street. It's helpful, though, that they paint big "Look Right" and "Look Left" signs at the ends of the walks. I get nervous when I see cars going by with no one in the driver's seat, though; that still manages to make me laugh.

The Mall, leading straight to Buckingham Palace

Thanks for making the trip with me. Hope you're all doing well. Let me know.

Chunnel of Victory: 9 minutes

Hey all. My trip here yesterday could be called an adventure in almost making it. I decided to play it safe and get to Brussels extra early before my Eurostar to London. I would take the 8:06 a.m. train from Den Haag HS instead of the 9:06, which would have put me there just in time. I woke up at 6 a.m., planning to catch the first bus after seven. I hadn't rechecked the bus schedule, but I was pretty sure the bus from Wassenaar to Den Haag came at about 17 minutes and 47 minutes after. I ate breakfast, drank one last Nespresso, prayed with Adam and Casey, and headed out. I was only a few minutes off schedule, and still made it to the bus stop at 7:10.

The first 7 bus came at 7:01. I was nine minutes late. I wasn't too nervous, though. I caught the 7:31 and made it to Den Haag Centraal at 8:01, just in time to watch the train to Den Haag HS leave the station without me. I had to wait until 8:21 for the next train to leave, and rode the 3 short minutes to the next station. But it was okay, I'd catch the 9:06 as originally planned and things would just have to work smoothly in Brussels. I sat down to wait and pulled out my journal. Trains were moving in and out of my platform quickly. I'd gotten lost in journaling, so I almost missed my train. I was relieved when I got aboard. We started to move too quickly, though, and then I noticed I was on a 9:01, not a 9:06, and the B-city I was headed towards was not Brussels.

I just about threw up right there. The guy across from me noticed me looking green, and asked the question with his face. "I think I'm in the wrong train," I told him.

"Where are you trying to go?" he asked.

"Brussels Zuid," I said. He looked nervously toward the woman across from him.

She leaned forward. "It's okay," she said, "You have to change in Rotterdam. They all go the same direction."

"Thank you," I replied weakly. "I think I'm going to go wait downstairs." I went down toward the doors and plopped down on my suitcase, wringing my hands and worrying. Would this intercity train with all its stopping actually beat my train to Rotterdam. I had a five minute headstart, but I wasn't sure that was enough. I started praying hard. Lord, you know everything. You are in control, not me. You can make this train fly. I closed my eyes and pretended we were actually flying along. As the minutes ticked, I felt sick but just kept praying. This was my shot. If I didn't make it onto that train there was no way I could catch my Eurostar. I'd have to wait till evening and wouldn't make it until 10:30 p.m. Father, put some train person on the platform that knows which platform I have to get to--let there be enough time.

We pulled into Rotterdam with about 2 minutes till my train was supposed to get there. Two train men were on the platform almost right in front of my car. Platform four! one said, then I was off, dragging my bag on one wheel and then its belly, not caring.

I made it. Then I made it onto the Eurostar, where in my first class seat all the panic of getting there was forgotten. We got a nice lunch, two drink services, coffee, dessert, and a chocolate. I sat next to a nice Irish guy who has a family and three houses. It was a fantastic trip.

I arrived in London at the Waterloo station and took the tube to Picadilly Circus to pick up tourist information, a map, and exchange my money. London's underground metro really does look like a tube, so it's an apt name. All that settled, I went to my bed and breakfast in the Victoria neighborhood to check in.

The guy behind the desk was a foreign guy, who was not shy. I'd stood there all of half a minute when he started telling me how beautiful I am, how lucky they are to have me stay there. He loves Americans. "Here's your key. Room 36, gorgeous," he said.

"Oh, boy," I replied. This phrase is getting to be a thing with me. What is it with these guys? Luckily right then Nick Vu walked in and we headed away from Romeo. I got settled in and then we went to get theater tickets. We bought tickets for Wicked and then tried taking the tube to Hyde Park. We went to Green Park on accident, and suddenly ended up at Buckingham Palace. We finally made it to lovely Hyde Park, but in the rain Speakers Corner was empty. We went back to Victoria and grabbed a quick, yummy dinner and then went to the show.

Wicked, if you're not familiar, is an incredible musical. We'd never seen it before, so it was just thrilling. The performers were just amazing, and the show itself is a lot of fun. I had chills. And basically, I'm hooked. I think I'm going to eat less so that I can see more shows here. Afterwords we walked along the Thames from about the Tower Bridge to the Globe and got some dessert. When we finally got back to Elizabeth House (the B&B) I was zonked. It had been a long day.

Nick just left so now like Cosette I'm on my own. Get ready for a lot of goofy pictures of me doing stuff. I'll keep you posted. Cheerio!

My Night With Giovanni

Here it is, folks, the long-awaited story of my Italian date night. Some of you are probably thinking, is this Emily Taylor? She would not go out on a date with an Italian guy while on vacation with her family! You are right. Well, you should have been right.

As I mentioned before, the date began with Giovanni, the hotel waiter, asking me out in front of my parents. Just in case you've forgotten, it went like this: Mom, Dad, and I are sitting out on the terrace, enjoying a drink after dinner. Giovanni serves us. A few minutes later he returns and says, "Can I ask question?" then he looks at my dad and says, "Not you, her." Mom and Dad immediately start laughing but play it pretty cool. "Would you like to have a drink with me across the street?"

As you know, in the end I accepted. He said, "Okayuh. In, um, fifteen minutes I come back and tell you. Then I go. Then in ten minutes I come back. And then we go. Where will I meet you?" I struggle through: "Here?" "Okayuh."

Sure enough, he came back the first time, telling me he was off. Then he left, and about ten minutes later he returned. Man, did he return. This guy was ready for date night. He was dressed in a sleeveless black tshirt that said "Nike" on the front. On top of that, a thick chain. He wore jeans and black and gold sneakers. Yes, I said gold--mostly gold. He had on three silver chain bracelets, which later served as a conversation piece: ("Which one do you like?" Trying not to laugh, "This one?" "Me too.")

We walked out of the hotel and directly across the street. There were lots of people about our age there. Of course he asked the guy if we could have the only open table right there on the porch. I suddenly felt very displayed. Oh boy, I thought, now I'm the hotel girl. He ordered a beer for himself, cappucino for me. This was a huge highlight of the date--I discovered I like cappucino, and have been drinking it ever since.

He knew everyone. It's a small town. He asked if he'd taken too long and told me he'd run down to shower. He was still sweating from the effort. He lives with his parents he tells me, which he says is common for boys in small towns to do until they are thirty. He's 24, how old am I? Twenty-six. "Is okay?" he asks. He tells me about first seeing me, and his requirements for asking a girl out: "First, beautiful. Second, I not have girlfriend. Third, not a beetch." "Oh boy," I said.

He points out people, telling me one guy is gay and asking if I see the girls at the other end of the little terrace. "They're...how you say, uh Rusca? From Rusca?"

"Russia?"

"Yes, uh...Russia. They're beetches. But not the other one, she's not with them. She only lives with them. She knows they're beetches."

Oh boy.

Some guys he knows come and start talking to him. It's all Italian, I have no idea, and they keep smiling these funny alright! smiles. "When you have to be home? When you like?" he asks. I shrug and say not too late. "When we, uh, finish, we can, if you like, go for a walk if you like."

"I guess."

I'm not sure, but I think he may have downed his beer at this point. We stand up and start walking down the street. At the first uphill left he tries to put his arm around me. "Nope," I say, "just friends. I'm not going to kiss you."

"Oh," he says, and takes my hand. "Friends is good. I not ask you so I can kiss. I'ma gonna show you this spot. I like this spot. Sometimes, if a girl likes, I come here. Is very romantic, thisa spot."

I'm thinking, alright, cool--I'm getting to see a cool spot that only the locals know about. We get to the spot, which I'm expecting to at least have a view. It is literally a little cement sidewalk cul-de-sac with about five benches, obscured by trees. Very romantic. As we get to the edge of the cul-de-sac he shows his true colors, and turns me toward him with gusto. I shrug away: "Oh boy... Friends."

We sat down on the bench and I kept my distance. It was on this special little bench that I then heard the play by play of Italy's last World Cup victory, including the winning streak prior, players names, and crowd reactions. "Then [so and so] is like," kicks, "and then it's like...whoosh," fist up, "hhhhaaaaaahhhhhh" (the crowd goes wild)! I kid you not the story lasted about 30 minutes. The Italians love their soccer.

At about that time another couple comes giggling down the steps toward his secret romantic spot. Giovanni greets them as they sit on another bench. Giovanni says something dirty about them; he apparently knew more English than I would have guessed. This puts another little romantic fire under him, so he grabs my shoulder and yanks me toward him. I'm like, "Friennnnds." He responds, "Just head on shoulder. Is okay, see head on shoulder is all." "Oh boy," I said.

For whatever reason I just let this go for a sec. Then tiny kisses starting grazing my forehead.

Yeah-stinkin-right. Don Juan Giovanni.

I shrugged him off and stood up. "Let's go. Time to go home. I'm tired."

We took a different path back to the hotel. I think he didn't want his friends to see him bringing me home early. On the way he asked if I would meet him again tomorrow night; I said probably not. What did I think of him, he wanted to know. I longed to be gracious: "I think you're nice."

"Nice," he repeated. "And?"

I thought about it. "And Italian," I said, and bid him goodnight.

Amsterdam

Today we couldn't get it together. We'd had this great plan to get up early, have quiet times, drink Nespresso, and be in Amsterdam by around 11 a.m. That was a pretty big deal, because thus far we've had a hard time leaving anywhere before 11 a.m., much less arriving. Sure enough, when I finished my morning bathroom routine there was no sound from the Hammond room. I knocked on the door, and told them the time. Casey shot to the door, apologizing. "No big deal," I said, "I'm just getting going too...we're not in any rush."

I went downstairs and had breakfast and Nespresso and read my Bible for a bit. Casey came down and asked for my Tide To Go pen. Before I knew it, we had laundry problems. Adam and I hopped on bikes (very Dutch) and rode to the grocery store for an arsenal of cleaners. It made me appreciate for our Hispanic population at home that cleaners are often labeled in both English and Spanish. Here we had to sort through the Dutch, which wasn't always easy. We asked one woman if she could help us, and she said she spoke some English. We asked her what a particular bottle's use was, and she read it and then said, "It's for cleaning." Since we were on the cleaning aisle, this wasn't news to us. She was kind to try.

We made it back and put out our first defense. Finally, at about 11:30 we headed to the bus stop. We almost tried a new bus route but just as we were going to cross to the other side of the street the bus flew by us. Settling back into our original plan, we headed to the Den Haag Central Station. We made it there and went down to the train platform. That's when I realized I'd neglected to bring my Eurail pass.

"They don't often check," Adam said.

"Yeah, but I also have to book my Eurostar to London today," I replied.

"Oh yeah."

I had to go all the way back to Mark's Dad's place to get the dumb thing. I should have been in pain--I was kicking myself the whole ride back. But I busted it and, sprinting up to the stop just as the bus arrived, got to the Leiden station in record time. I was supposed to meet the Hammonds in front of the station.

I waited for an hour. The lesson here is try never to split up with the Hammonds. Finally I decided to chuck it and just get on the train to Amsterdam. I'd buy my ticket for tomorrow and then get on a train to Utrecht for the rest of the day by myself.

When I arrived in Amsterdam I was nearly bowled over by Casey. They'd been waiting for me there. Ah, communication. They were loving that train station, especially when we had to go up and take a number at the international ticket office.

Finally out on the town, we searched out a restaurant called Eat Mode. Adam led the way.

In Dam Plaza

Busy Amsterdam

Pretty soon I smelled pot. A few steps later, pot again. Another coffee shop, more marijuana smell. Then came the windows with blatant pornography, then lavish displays of sex toys and advertisements for erotic shows. Adam was leading us to lunch in the Asian neighborhood directly through the red light district. I was reminded why I don't like Amsterdam.

It was a gray day anyway, and I just felt heavier and heavier in my spirit. It rained outside and in; I couldn't finish my lunch. We saw all these groups of young guys, and I kept feeling sad.

Apparently there's a Christian hostel in town that most people stay in because it's the cheapest. They enforce segregated dorms and have Bible studies each morning. I can't imagine trying to live in Amsterdam permanently, but I respect the people who do try and make a difference. What a mission field. It's funny though: the more I thought about it, the more I realized Amsterdam only makes obvious what goes on more subtly in other places. Selling sex isn't new, it's just a little more raw and gaudy here. I spent a lot of today in prayer. We're all guilty of lusting after the pleasures of the flesh. They never satisfy us because we're made for more.

Don't get me wrong--Amsterdam isn't all bad. The canals are fun, the architecture is crazy, and there are some great museums (including the Van Gogh Museum and the Anne Frank House). We were just planning to walk around, though. We didn't stay long. After the long day of mishaps and soul-sadness, we were pretty tired. We headed home pretty early.

Zonked. Bri and Ryan--surprised this isn't me?

Home to Jonkerlaan! I just love saying that.

We had more Nespresso out on the little patio by the canal. We've had great talks every day, and did again this evening. Tomorrow we'll split ways. I'm definitely going to miss the Hammonds; pray for them in their travels. I'm really excited about London. I've been taking it pretty easy for the past week; I'm back into tourist mode starting at 6 a.m. tomorrow. Hopefully there won't be a train strike. Duwey! (bye)

Wassenaar

First things first--I've added pictures to the last three posts, so scroll down and check them out. There are a bunch so it might seem extra long, but you at least don't have to reread the words.

God really intended for Barrett Jones to have some friends while he was in Munich. We all went to the train station to catch our night trains, which were leaving around the same time. Upon arriving, Adam realized we had incorrectly remembered our departure time, and we were actually on the same train as Barrett. He would get off somewhere in Germany, and we'd ride all the way to Amsterdam. We were an hour early, so we broke out the Yahtzee. We continued it on the train, and I had my best game ever. I rolled three Yahtzees. I'm sure you're cheering.

Only in Europe would they have a whole car for bicycles, the perfect place for Yahtzee

We all went to sleep in the couchette a little after midnight. For once there were no snorers. Barrett had to get up just after 3 a.m. to make his connection to the airport. I vaguely remember him waking me up so that I could relock the door to our couchette.

We found out later in the morning that we sat at that station for 140 minutes. We'd heard the night before that we'd narrowly missed a German train strike. Not so narrowly, as it turned out--we arrived in Amsterdam four hours late. At that point, we abandoned our plans of going to Brussels and opted instead to hang out at Mark's dad's house just outside the Hague in Wassenaar (where we are staying).

Bus face

We ate lunch at this awesome place in town. We were so hungry. We'd made a pauper's breakfast out of our old groceries on the train while once again sitting at a station forever, but that was about 7 hours earlier. We found a place that served lunch till 4 p.m. We'd made it with 10 minutes to spare. We all ordered sandwiches: Adam, the house specialty; Casey, salmon; me, chicken. Mine was the only one with cooked meat, which was a bit of a shocker to the Hammonds. Casey likes sushi, but this was a huge piece of fish. I'm not huge on sushi, so when I tried hers I almost threw it up. Mine was stinking awesome. I think I could eat it almost every day if it didn't give me terrible onion breath.

Picking up breakfast foods at the store

Ah, Holland

Back at the house, the goal was to get clean. Casey had been wearing the same clothes for four days, ever since she bought the new shirt in Interlaken. We took turns showering and doing laundry, and it felt great. After paying so much for things here in Europe, it's kind of amazing to receive the hospitality of Mark's family. Suddenly we have a place to sleep and eat, do laundry, and use the internet all for free. Free, fast internet is the reason I've posted so many pictures. I'm really thankful.

I'm also thankful for the fellowship I've gotten to have with the Hammonds over here. It's been awesome to sit, journal, read my Bible, and then just talk about whatever we're thinking. We've gotten to discuss Scripture, pray together, and share struggles. Community in the family of God is a necessary blessing, I believe. God has provided in neat ways.

We're going to Amsterdam tomorrow. The Hammonds leave the day after. At this point, I am still going to London. Nick Vu is there now, and I'll hang out with him my first night before he flies home. I've prayed about it and don't feel directed not to go, so I'll take the Eurostar through the chunnel on the 5th.