last day

It rained every day of my last week in Amsterdam, every day at least a little and today, the last day, a lot. When it wasn’t raining the sky was clouds from end to end, so that this morning when I opened my eyes and looked out the sixth floor full-wall window my bed was pressed against I had a moment of regret followed my a moment of ingenuity, a plan to split open the cloudcover and shuck it off like a pillowcase.

Tomorrow morning I am getting on a plane to New York. I’ve left here before, by plane and train and automobile, and I’ve always come back again, so I am feeling no latent alarm. I am sensing, from experience, that although I will load my back and arms with all my Amsterdam possessions, receive a boarding pass, flash my passport, I will not, despite all this evidence to the contrary, actually be leaving.

Given the weather it has been a satisfying last week. I gave accurate directions no less than five times, tandem biked around the island of Texel with Natalie, started and finished a solid novel by an author I hadn’t heard of before, pleasantly ended an ongoing nothing-in-particular with a cute and clever Dutch boy, and visited a hands-on museum of hydraulic engineering. On the practical side I did laundry, packed, bought presents, and sent a final round of postcards. I listened to This American Life and cycled through the favorite songs I missed while on the road – songs by angry girls and country boys and friends I haven’t seen in too long. I considered cutting off my hair but decided against it.

Surprisingly, I am ready to go back. I am most of all ready to get to work on my thesis. I am also eagerly anticipating late nights with friends, and nonstop access to English media, and the produce windfall that is autumn in Eugene. Shit, I might even be able to eat a brownie! I never thought much about brownies but they don’t make them here, so I haven’t had a brownie in almost a year. Which suddenly makes brownies marvelous.

Anyway. See y’all soon.

confession

with my 4:30 flight i could have seen florence, but instead i ate bread and cheese at debbie's
lace-covered table and watched mtv.

i am having the sort of day when music videos make me sentimental
so i caught the next bus to the airport -
i'm three hours early,
my flight's not on the board yet,
the ticket counter is closed.

but here are all the people doing airport things:
hailing taxis, looking hopeful, sleeping, carrying children.
going to an airport is a tremendous act of faith.

the woman on the radio on the bus sang last night a d.j. saved my life
and i believed her.

2 august 2005

Today was pretty fuckin fantastic as days go. I woke up in Debbie's Siena apartment, one with a big door like I've always dreamed about, and lay about in the sun eating a nectarine and reading The Art of Travel. Then I booked my flight to Amsterdam, wrote letters, chatted with the town artist who specializes in illuminated manuscripts, ate grapefruit gellatto, made a quick sketch.

Everything in life feels fabulously easy after the Balkans.

And part of me feels like I cheated, like I should have gone to Slovenia for my last four days, because it's a place I've been imagining ever since the Slovenian guys in my Turkish hostel five years ago told Slovenian stories.

But then the rest of me opens another bottle of wine and goes back to laughing with my friends on the Piazza del Campo.

the beginning of august

Test Number One of my Newfound Patriotism:
being stuck on a stopped train full of Carnival Cruiseline Americans

bad: their loud conversations and general panicked agreement that not getting back to the ship on time would be the absolute End of the World

worse: when the Spanish guy said, jokingly, Follow me to a taxi! I'm the boss! and they responded, not jokingly, No, God is the boss.

worst: the Louisiannan's filling time by expounding on the greatness of George W. Bush, including a monologue on the complacency of Bill Clinton and frequent repetition of the phrase the best defense is a good offense.