Day 14 1/2: Amsterdam

The last time we were here, it was early in the morning on a Sunday. Here we are again, on a Friday at the crack of dawn. If it wasn't happening then, no way it was happening now.

The European mentality is a lot more relaxed than ours. They get to it when they get to it. Europeans open stores later, close earlier, have at least five weeks vacation per year, and take time out for naps. Whereas in any major city of the Western Hemisphere, it's unheard of to not have something open at all hours of the day or night.

Nothing, but nothing is open at 6am in Amsterdam, which is when we rolled back to the Leidsestraat. Not a convenience store, breakfast place, or even a Mickey D's which reduced us to wandering around with our carry ons like total morons. It's not that we're hungry, or even thirsty, but it would be really nice to use a bathroom right now.

Remember the All Bran? Almost a week later, and it keeps coming. James called it "The Great Purge," and I couldn't agree more. In my case, combine that with the Airport Neurosis, and Houston, we have a *major* problem. So between the hours of 6-7am, James and I wandered downtown Amsterdam rolling our bags to and fro, frantically looking for open establishments, and squeezing our asscheeks as tightly as possible.

Seven sharp, a very hungover looking waitress opened up a pancake house nearby, and we took ourselves and our luggage inside. James went to the bathroom first, came back out with a sour look on his face and declared it "unfit." I took his word for it. Since nothing else was open and there was nothing to do anyway, we ordered some breakfast.

More comparisons. When you order pancakes in North America, you usually get a bunch of small ones in a stack, or a handful of medium-sized ones in a pile. In the Netherlands, you get one huge, gigantic pancake that overlaps the dinner plate they serve it on, with your choice of toppings.

Holland is expensive. The last time I was here they were on Guilders, which wasn't so bad, but the Euro is crippling. I considered the pancake with strawberries, but no way I was paying, translated into my currency, over $12 for one pancake. Even if this thing was bigger than my pants, there are some things in life that just shouldn't be expensive.

I got a plain pancake. James got a plain pancake. We will each have one topping, and that is Stroop. That's Dutch for syrup. Stroop is way thicker and way sweeter than anything on our shelves back home, and we slathered it on with a vengeance before digging in. Five minutes later, I scraped most of it off with a bread knife. Too bloody sweet. Whatever was left I washed down with a double shot latte.

We learned very quickly that breakfast was a big mistake. All Bran flashbacks, Airport Neurosis, gigantic greasy pancake, shaky caffeine hands and stroop is not a happy balance. If we were squeezing our asscheeks before out of necessity, now it was pure desperation. Jumpy James and Manifested Me stormed around quick as can be until we found a lone coffee shop with a WC the size of a broom closet.

We took turns and after a good hour or so, felt better. And then we had more coffee. Didn't want the waitress to think we were loitering for free toilet credits.

Left the cafe around the time the shops opened up, oh glory be, so I went on a mad fashion dash for Oli. My carry on was almost empty for this, and boy, did my sister benefit. I got her a leather trench coat, a brown linen jacket, and an orange purse. Being a professional shopper on a mission, I did this all in seven minutes.

And, before we went back to the airport, a special present for me: the Lomo Holga camera. Bargain Russian photographic innovation in my grubby little hands. All mine!