from Paris to Amsterdam, Schiedam, Bruges, and back

Since I left off in Paris at the Hotel Invalides (I think it's called), everyone but my mom and I have gone back towards home. Within this timeframe, 16 days, about two weeks, I've been to see the Eiffle Tower (up close), the Musee' d'Orsay, the Louvre Pyramid (not the museum yet though), the Moulin Rouge, and lots of other things I vaguely recognized from various movies and pictures. Very exciting. Also, when everyone was still around we took a river cruise on the Seine, which was great except for the masses of high school age exchange students that were shouting soccer cheers at the top of their lungs the whole time. Or maybe it was better because of them... Anyway, we met a nice Canadian family who sympathized with our exasperated sighs and chatted with us (or maybe just me) about the differences in educational systems throughout North America. Very informative. The whole thing took place at night, probably around nine, so everything was lit up and the darkness made the buildings absolutely gorgeous. Or fabulous, if it's Brit time. Maybe it should be, as we'll be heading over to the great Isle in about a week. Or less, hopefully. I know no one out there actually understands my strange desire to go home, but I must assure you that I do realize how precious a learning experience this is, how I might regret leaving later, blah blah blah. Don't think I don't know how great this is. I just really need too see my cat. Eheh. Actually, it's more than that, but as I said, you don't really understand. So then. After a few days of being flexible, getting some shopping done, and eating lots of Chevre', Debra caught her plane back home, and Duane, my parents, and I all took a speedy train (I don't remember what they're actually called) up to Amsterdam. Upon arrival at the Centraal Station (no typo, there are really supposed to be two a's) we promptly blundered our way to the canal boat on which we were planning on residing. Or, as my mom usually puts it- much to my annoyance-  our house. I can never get her to stop saying it, and for some inane reason her phrasing really annoys me. It's like she doesn't understand that we'll only be there for three days and insists on acting as though we really live there. I know it's harmless and I really have no reason to get upset over this, but I've pretty much given up on trying to forget and accept by this point. I forget how many times I've been reprimanded and accept that I'll just get over it when we get home. Anyhoos, The boat was all that we could have hoped for, decked out like a perfect two bedroom apartment, complete with sun room with removable roof, full size kitchen, and a separate living room. Two bathrooms too! Or I suppose I should say head.. We had a lot of fun in there for a few days while we were in the great city visiting the Van Gogh museum, the Anne Frank House, a great  flea market selling cannibis pops at pretty much every turn, and multiple versions of the same Argentinian restaurant. I swear they're everywhere. I would go into great detail of our many exciting adventures in Holland, but we really didn't have many. Not like Paris, where I very nearly got dragged off the street by some sleazy French guy. Creepy. Next time I'm going straight into defensive maneuvers. No more Mr. Nice Guy. Or girl, whatever. So after a few days we parted ways with both the city and my dad and Duane, after, unfortunately (not really) no interlude with the very legal substances floating around the city. Herbal ecstasy, anyone? No, really, I'm not interested at this point in my life. Oh but I have forgotten to mention the other strangely legal thing in Holland-or, more correctly, the Netherlands- prostitution. If you don't want to see them, don't go there. At least not to Amsterdam. The most amusing thing I saw personally was an esteemed establishment called "The Condomerie". Exact spelling and everything. Luckily for all of you more sensitive types, I was unable to take a picture. I will tell you that the assortment of colors and flavors (remember that I saw this in passing only, display window) was astonishing.  Hilarious. So. Anyway, after Amsterdam, my dad went home, and the mumster and I set off for Schiedam, home to Peet, Anita, Sanner, Robert, and Andras. I apologize to Sanner (there I go with it again) for almost certainly misspelling her name. I couldn't really pronounce it either, so I doubt she would discount me for it. We stayed with them for two nights, with one at a quaint little bed and breakfast, and our time was filled with appeltart (once again, Dutch, not my misspelling), bike rides through the countryside, and lots of trans-lingual catching-up. The van der Meers, which in English I believe would be just 'the Meers, were extremely gracious hosts, and we had a delightful time with them. After three days we were truly sad to leave, but the open road was a'callin'. Heh. So on we went to Bruges, Belgium, home to delicious chocolate, waffles, and a Michelangelo sculpture that hardly anyone knows about. As much of a follower I am of the Great Master, I, too, neglected to see it. We did manage to see some sweet little canals and ducklings while riding bikes through some intensely twisty and bumpy cobblestone streets. That's the thing about Europe, the cobblestones are everywhere, yet people still ride bikes. I think I'd have to get some extra shocks or something if I were to be doing that every day. 

After just one night we had to get a train back to Paris so we could get back our suitcases and the keys to the apartment on time. Darn those French and their lack of normal working hours.