We dragged ourselves and our luggage across the entire city to our hostel. This was my first hostel experience. We were given three bunks in a six-bed room with three older men. I suppose this is the reality of being a frugal student, but if I could do it over again, I would've booked a different style room. We were only in the room to sleep, so if was fine in the end. I'm just glad we had lockers in the room to store our valuables, because it was not the most settling experience.
Since we got in pretty late on Friday, we went out for fries and a Heineken- it was Amsterdam, after all- and along the way, a stranger thought it'd be funny to take my hat off and put it on. I was NOT okay with that and I screamed in his face and ripped it off his head. My rage turned into the running joke for the weekend. But seriously, do not touch my hat, especially since it was my dad's from Germany in the 70s. Only slightly special.
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| With Anna near our hostel |
On Saturday, we went to the Anne Frank House, which was an experience that I was glad to have again, now that I'm six years older. It's surreal to think as you're walking through Anne's bedroom that they had to live here in darkness and silence for such a long time, only to be ratted out by someone they knew. I also never knew that Anne had wanted to become a famous writer and publish a book about her experiences. Her dreams came true.
The rest of the day we spent at the Van Gogh Museum and the Heineken Brewery, which was one big marketing ploy, but fun to see anyway. That night, we had to run across town to make it to a cocktail cruise on the canals. We had a classy time, floating through the city sipping on mojitos and daiquiries and taking in the lights of the city. Afterwards, we decided to take a walk through the Red Light District, as tourists do. After Anna took a picture of the red lanterns, I decided to take one too. Big mistake. A prostitute came out of her window and onto the street to yell at me to delete my photo immediately or she would call the police. I knew that photos weren't allowed of the people, but apparently you can't even take pictures of the lights. I was terrified. You have never been yelled at until you've been yelled at by a prostitute in Amsterdam. So many lessons learned this weekend!
On Sunday, we visited the flower market, shopped and had one last Amstel next to the canals. Oh! Here comes another lesson...We lost track of time and realized we had half an hour to get back to the hostel, grab our suitcases and get to the train. We quite literally sprinted across the city, my suitcase flipping over every few feet on the cobblestones and pushing little old ladies without apologies. I almost shouted to the others to go ahead without me, I'd find another train back to Paris, but we made it just in time as it was pulling out of the station. I am five minutes late wherever I go, but this got a little out of hand.
Stepping off the train back in Paris felt like coming home. Despite how expensive, crazy and noisy it is, I can't imagine living in any other city. I love Amsterdam, but Paris is much more me. Especially since it's now very much springtime, I almost want to cancel spring break and stay in Paris. Today I had a glass of Chardonnay at a café, basking in the sun and people-watching after my class got out early. What a moment of bliss! I could live this life forever.
Rachel
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