My fingers are tired from typing.

Well, now that I’m back in good old rainy Leeds, I can write about my time in Amsterdam. Firstly, though, apologies if there are numerous mentions of toilets; as I spent the whole time with a terrible stomach problem which meant that I suffered from major stomach pains as well as other unmentionable problems. But anyway, if you don’t want to hear about it you can just go away, or you can just pretend that you read this entry and then say “Wow. That was the funniest blog entry ever! I’m going to tell all of my friends how amusing that was.”

Sunday:
Thankfully, the flight was not until early afternoon, so none of these “get up early to get on an airplane” shenanigans. Because of the time difference, we arrived very ‘soon’ after we left, and got into the hotel, which had a tiny room.
We had asked for/booked a double room with an ensuite, and instead we got a room with 2 single beds and a toilet and shower out in the hall, shared with 6 other rooms. So, from this information, we can conclude that “Double Room” in Dutch means “Single beds” and “Ensuite” means “Hey, let’s put the toilet across the hall, so when our sick guests spend most of the night running to and from the toilet, they’ll have to avoid all the other people using it too!”

Anyway, we went and had a look at the red light district, which is really very confronting. It’s that classic ‘Car Wreck’ syndrome, where you don’t want to look, but you do anyway. Lots of girls in bikinis standing around in their windows, and guys on street corners muttering “Coke? Coke?” at you. And then, as we were going off somewhere for dinner, there was an “adult theatre” and this guy was like “Come in! Very couple-friendly. Couples fucking live on stage.” Friendly, indeed! So, in conclusion, the Red Light district is a bit squiky, but once you get out of the tourist centre with hookers and pot, Amsterdam is one of the most lovely cities I have visited. There’s so many cafes and restaurants on every corner, you could eat out every night for the next 10 years I reckon.

We ended up in a lovely little cocktail bar drinking White Russians, and when we got the bill, I noticed that on the bottom they had written “We make you drunk but also very happy!” Ha! I love it. I’m going to open a bar and its slogan is going to be “We make you so drunk that you’ll end up crying about all the shitty things that have happened in your life, and then you’ll pick up inappropriate men and by the way, you’ll be broke because the prices for my drinks are sky high! Take that, you alcoholic bitch.”

Sunday night:
Divided my time between lying in bed and moaning in pain and in the bathroom. Good times!

Monday:
Did you know that the only day of the year that the Anne Frank museum is closed is on Yom Kippur? And did you know that this year, Yom Kippur falls on Monday, October 2nd? Ha! What a coincidence! I think God hates me!

But instead, we went to the Rembrandt museum, which is actually the house he lived and worked in for about 20 years in the 1600’s. Although most of his belongings were sold to cover his debts, they have tried to reconstruct it as best they could. And it’s very, very cool. I especially loved going into his studio, where he actually painted. Being a history nerd, it’s just magical being in the place where people actually lived. I mean, actually lived. And worked. And argued. And debated whether or not Friends went downhill after Monica and Chandler got together (Yes, it did.)

And then, we passed a toyshop which sold, get this, finger puppets of some of the greatest classical composers! I mean, having a Mozart finger puppet? Awesome. I’m going to be one of those mothers whose like “Come on little Mary, this is Mozart. And this guy here? He’s Bach. Now, it’s time for bed. Let’s read Animal Farm so you can understand exactly how Communism never works. And tomorrow, we’re going to Iceland to study Fjords!”

And also? It rains a hell of a lot in Amsterdam. So I had wet socks.

Tuesday:
Got up at a ridiculously early hour to fly home. Schiphol airport is the coolest airport every in the history of coolness. It’s got a supermarket, modern art, awesomely clean toilets, and lots of shops, and hot immigration guys.

Speaking of immigration guys, coming into England is such a tiresome process. Heathrow is the most popular destination for Australians to get turned away, and the men and women there have no sense of humour, and seriously think that everybody is dying to come into England and I’m like “Yeah, how about NO? Do you really think I’m dying to illegally stay in a country where drivers don’t use their indicators when they’re about to turn the corner, and so you try and cross the road and this car nearly slams into you and then the driver thinks that he has the right to start yelling at you to look where you’re going????”

At Leeds airport they are slightly better, but this is the explanation I had to give to the man: “Well, I came to the UK at the end of 2005 just for a few days for a holiday, and then I came back down again in June to visit friends, but then I went to Prague for a weekend, and now I’ve just been to Amsterdam, and I’m also going to be going to Ireland and America, and I’m a teacher and I’m going back to Aus at the end of the year to work again.” And I pretty much sound like an illegal immigrant who has been caught up in this mass of lies. Sod it, I’m just going to tell them I’m a traffic inspector or something.


Best bits of holiday:
1. Having flight attendants called “Kitty” and “Lulu”. Hear that? That’s the
sound of stereotypes being smashed!
2. Hot Dutch guys who have bottoms that look really good in jeans.
3. The fact that it’s considered rude to draw your curtains, so I could stand in
the street and look into people’s houses and say “Yes, I’d like that one
thanks!”
4. People watching.
5. Clean Dutch toilets!!!!!!!

Worst bits of holiday:
1. The smell of pot everywhere, including the room next door to ours.
2. Not being able to enjoy much food
3. Realising that I can never aspire to being as cool as Europeans.
4. Having to stand in the very long and slow-moving “All other passports” line
at immigration whilst an entire Iranian clan in front of me was being
interrogated, whereas EU passport holders just breezed though security
carrying, like, a bomb.

This blog entry was brought to you by my stomach. Because one’s life is very much improved by having to be within 50 yards of a bathroom at all times.