Craving for a tan.

 



.

Strangely enough, I am also craving for a tan, or better yet, a sunburn, and the rise in body temperature that would accompany it. It is cold here, nipple-invertingly cold; I'm no stranger to the cold but with the wind whipping off the canals HOLY CRAP it's cold.

 

My first-day impressions, clouded as they were by a thick haze of sleep deprivation, were recorded in an email to my husband:

"Getting to the train? And then the tram? From the airport? Not an easy experience for someone who probably right now can't tie her own shoes. There's no way to figure out which tram goes where and you need a special ticket to take the tram and how do you pay for the ticket? No way to know! Everything's in Dutch! We finally figured out that we had to buy the ticket at the bookstore in the train station, where we lamely were all American and like "GIVE US TICKET PLEASE" and they were all "Thank you for not learning a single word of Dutch."

 

I don't even know how to say thank you.

Then we got to the hotel, which is an amazing place--I may spend the rest of my time here in the bathtub, and if Melissa wants to hang out with me, well, she'll just have to climb in--but they wanted me to fill out forms, and seriously I couldn't do it. If someone had handed me an IQ test right then and there I would have pulled out a brown crayon and scrawled I LIKE NAPS across it. I thought I had lost my passport and proceeded to have a full-scale panic attack, which was nipped in the bud .5 seconds later when I found my passport. Melissa gazed down upon me in pity. "

 

Then before I could hit "send" I passed out on my keyboard.

If anyone in Amsterdam wants to get drinks with us, email me. Melissa needs company in her quest to drink more than a single beer, and I'm not up to the task. Yet.