Picture me walking through Amsterdam with my practical black Born shoes with buckles, my purple purse slung over my shoulder, even though I was warned against carrying it that way because of muggers, and a camera always in my hands.
I guess you don’t have to picture me, I found a picture.
Oh, yea, and my nose was wrinkled up from the smell of smoke and I was constantly coughing from the smoke. And, if you have birthed many children,
as I have, you know how challenging it can be to cough. You’re cringing on my behalf, aren’t ya’?
Won’t go into details because single women and married without children women may be reading this blog, and I don’t want to discourage them from having children. And I wouldn’t want to embarrass myself or my children, but you can imagine crossing of legs might occasionally happen.
Remember, there aren’t a lot of public potties in Amsterdam.
Anyhoo, it was a thrill to be walking briskly through this city.
The buildings in Amsterdam are older than my country. It gave me a burst of pride for what our country has accomplished even though we’re so young.
In my neighborhood, they tore down an “old” elementary school to build a brand-new, larger building with more windows.
I was in shock when I heard that. The building wasn’t even 40 years old.
The new building is beautiful and the families love using it. But, only in America do we have disposable buildings. Can’t we build anything here that will last generations? Like in Europe?
I loved The Amsterdam Clock Tower. Not only did I know what time it was, if I could see this spire, I knew I wasn’t lost.
Another view.| Picture me standing on the street, looking up with my camera, and almost getting hit by a biker.
Yea, they may be in suits, but they are dangerous.
A friend asked me to go look at a house they were considering buying last spring. It was still under construction, so we were able to walk around.
The 2×4’s were warped and still had bark on them. They don’t use plywood, they use pressboard, ya’ know, scraps and glue mixed together.
I thought about those shoddy materials when I viewed these buildings.
It felt funny to be using the “d” word all the time. Kinda’ bothered my Christian sensibilities.
I was reminded of a time my little boy was enthralled when crossing the Canyon Ferry Dam to get to Gramma’s house.
When we arrived, he told his grandparents we “dwove on the dam bridge across the dam river to get to your house.”
Another building in Dam Square and one I didn’t go in. Since I wouldn’t pay to meet real movie stars, I figured I didn’t need to pay to meet wax ones.
Everywhere you look, the buildings are magnificent and so are the waterways.
I loved the canals. Seattle shoulda’ done this.
They curved from the sea into the city, so if you had to get to a business, you took your boat right into town, unloaded, then hit the sea again.
You can clearly see the canals in this map that I memorized at the hotel and hid in the inside pocket of my Levi jean jacket. I didn’t want to stand on the street and look like a tourist, so I plotted the course at night, and carried it just in case.
The strategy worked.
The second day out I had two people stop and ask me for directions.
My husband would love to buy a boat. He wants a huge motor to go really, really fast.
This is what I picture.
I could own a boat if it were a houseboat. A slow-moving boat with rooms for books and craft stuff and a garden.
Then, when I walked miles and miles, without getting lost, well, not for very long, anyway, I’d trudge back to Central Station.
I’d fumble in my pockets for the right euros to buy my ticket, then sit on my seat rigidly, looking out the window, anxious to not miss my stop because I didn’t want to end up in Belgium.
But that would have made the ending to this post more exciting, right?