I was sitting outside a pub, at an outdoor table facing the Central Train Station and the gigantic 3-story bicycle parking garage. To my left was a group of six friends speaking in what I guessed was Spanish, and to my right two elderly couples, having excused themselves after a long conversation discussing Iowa, are making their way back to their hotel. My pint glass, Heinekin logo betraying the intended contents, sits empty, begging for more. The Spanish Friends, having made their choices from the menu several minutes ago, enjoy a brief silence. I look at them, they look at me, and we shrug and smile at each other. One of the Spanish ladies ended up stepping foot inside the pub, and the waiter, smartly dressed and sporting a mostly consumed marijuana cigarette, begrudgingly serves us.
The biggest stress of my trip - getting there - is over. I am sitting in Amsterdam in my comfortable, honestly-advertised hotel room, and I still have my valuables, health, and passport. I just enjoyed a meal of 2 McDonald's cheeseburgers and a medium coke. Jet lag has killed my will to endure one of the storied Netherlands marathon dinners tonight.
I hopped on the gorgeous new Boeing 777 in Chicago and sat next to a girl near my age named Libby. She was talkative instantly and we hit it off. Austrailian by birth, living in London for her profession. Due to the good company, my plan to sleep the entire flight was dashed. But broken plans produce fun adventures.When the conversation died down I was able to catch a few winks. At one point she stood up to walk to the aft bathroom, so I took the opportunity to use the forward bathroom. While in there, I hear an intercom call for "any doctors or nurses on this flight, please make your way to the rear galley"- being groggy I didn't put 2 and 2 together. I sit back down in my seat and am joined a few minutes later by Libby. We exchange some pleasantries and go back to sleeping and watching cartoons and The Office.
