As I sat in silence beside my father who drove me to the Los Angeles International airport, I tried to think objectively of what my departure meant, for there was no subjective meaning I could give it, and certainly none inherent. I am one of those people hopelessly addicted to change. Stagnation is death, life is movement. We are nothing more than tiny particles vibrating, and once they’ve stopped, we are no longer alive. So my venture to The Netherlands is nothing more than a way to keep my atoms buzzing, so I guess there’s some meaning for you.
Nothing feels real. The past three days have felt, not quite like a dream, but a journey through dreamspace. My flight left in the morning, 5:45, but I arrived at one. I did not know that one of the country’s largest international airports could shut down, but it does, at around one, every night, so I spent the night sleeping, or rather, trying to sleep, on a piece of leather stretched over a metal chair frame, to very little avail. When the flight boarded, I did my best to try and sleep more, but sleep on an airplane is brief, and sporadic at best. A layover in Detroit saw another attempt to sleep, but again, with no result. By my next flight, to Amsterdam direct, I had given up sleep entirely. To kill the time, I read, and when the cabin lights went out, I decided to watch an in-flight film.
Once I landed in Amsterdam at around 8:30, it occurred to me, more physically, than anything, that I hadn’t slept, eaten, or bathed in over 24 hours. This trend would continue well into the day. I had nothing but pocket change a friend was kind enough to lend me back in the State, so I pulled out 150 Euros from an ATM, and proceeded to the train terminal. I missed my first train, being entirely new to the system of transportation, and unable to read Dutch, but a very attractive Dutch girl (so far, I have seen no other kind) helped me onto the next train on a different platform, and just like that, I was on my way to Utrecht Central.
It didn’t take long for me to be overwhelmed by the beauty of the country. Lush green farmland and the most picturesque canals gave the scenery beyond the windows of the train. After several other conversations with several equally beautiful Dutch women, and another bus ride, I arrived at the university’s central library, where I would pick up my keys for the dorm I would stay at for the next couple weeks.
After getting settled in to my new room, which I have all to myself (glorious!), I took the opportunity to shower and take a brief nap, both were much needed. Without a phone that works in Europe, communication with anyone is a difficult task. However, some other UC kids and I found our way to each other and we went off to buy supplies for our rooms. Realizing that I could, I purchased a bottle of Argentinean Malbec at the store. A man should always have a good bottle of wine in his room at all times. Night began to fall, and the deep hunger set in. By that time it had been about 36 hours since I had eaten anything. We ate at a Greek place on the canal. One of our group ordered a chicken kabab, and the rest of us followed suit because we could not read the other options on the Dutch menu. I don’t know if it was just the starvation, but it was one of the better meals I have had in a while (the steak topped with avocado and blue cheese my dad grilled me before my departure notwithstanding). The night had fallen heavily, and the city central began to shut down. Before we left though, there was one last piece of business I needed to tend to.
The Netherlands has something that rest of the world does not; coffee shops. These are not to be confused with cafés. Cafés sell coffee, coffee shops sell marijuana and hash for recreational use. Being legal (kind of, it’s a long, complicated story) and regulated, Holland is able to supply the best weed in the world. It is inspected for bugs and overall purity, and they are able to experiment with new strains. At the counter, there were a few choices for different strains of weed. Some, like White Widow, I recognized right away, and although I am no expert in pot, I remember this to be one of the better strains back in the states. However, here, in this coffee shop, it was bottom of the line weed. Top of the line, was a strain called Amnesia. When I asked the man at the counter if it was worth the extra money, he simply looked at me, grinned, and said, “You’ll see.” So, I bought the Amnesia, on faith, and started back home. The Amnesia is laying next to me currently, untried, due to a crazier than planned detour later that night to the local pub, the Cambridgelaan Bar.
A few new friends and I decided to check out a bar a Dutch girl we’d encountered in the city center earlier told us about. It was a small place that had been described to us as “sort of lame,” so we had pretty low expectations. I had never been to a bar before, being hindered by the Puritanical laws back in the States, so this would be a special occasion for me, regardless. We were the first ones to arrive at the bar. It was just the three of us, and two jovial bartenders, who welcomed us excitedly. There were four beers on tap, Heineken (of course) Heineken extra cold, a womanly apple cider drink (which the two bartenders and every person that would come later would chastise laughingly) and finally, there was Westmalle. I started with a Heineken, because what the fuck else are you going to make your first drink in Holland? I had heard rumors that Heineken in Holland was better. Now, I am an avid beer drinker back home, but I was never an avid Heineken drinker, so I cannot verify this rumor with absolute certainty, but what I will say, is that was a damn good beer. Becky picked up the first round of beers. After we talked to the bartenders a little more, and after they learned we were from America and this was our first night in Utrecht, they bought us the next round. This time, I tried the Westmalle, a double beer at around 8% alcohol content. It was singlehandedly and undoubtedly the best beer I’ve ever had. I picked up the next round, and more people started pouring in. I met many people from all over, but I really hit it off with this couple, a Frenchman, and his Dutch girlfriend. At this point, alcohol was being given out like it was going out of style. Some guy from across the bar, bought everyone a shot of Jagermesiter, Jeremie bought me some drink I can’t recall, I think it may have been scotch, another girl wanted me to finish her hot chocolate and Bailey’s, and so the night went. After everyone was, well, let me be frank, hammered, The Frenchman invited us back to his friends place for more dancing and more drinks. At this time I realized that Becky had left. I would learn later that she had drunk a bit too much, and wasn’t feeling so great. The rest of the night at the friend’s place went by in a kind of drunken blur, but I recorded a video (which I found the next morning) of me drunkenly professing that it was the best night of my life, so it must have been pretty great.
I awoke the next day in my own bed, feeling like absolute shit. I looked out my window so find a soft light (which I thought was the morning light of dawn, but which after looking at my watch, I realized was the dying light of the afternoon. A couple friends came to my room at around 4 asking me if I wanted to go to the grocery store with them, but I felt like my body would actually shut down if I did anything but go back to sleep, so I declined and fell back into my bed. My stomach churned, my throat was sore. The pain was so raw and intense, I felt I would cry at any moment. I forced myself up to choke down several glasses of water. Again, the thought of food came back to me. I had only eaten that one chicken kebab in the last two days, and I was dehydrated to boot. I forced several more glasses of water down, and ate a trail mix bar my mom packed for me. There was no other food around, and I had no idea where the grocery store, or any restaurant was, within walking distance. I was lost, and literally dying in a foreign land. So, I decided to store my energy, and heal, by returning to sleep. I did this the rest of the day. My second day in Utrecht, and I did nothing but recover from the first day’s events. I woke up every now and then, but managed to put myself back to sleep. Six in the evening, nine at night, midnight…eventually at three in the morning, I could force myself back to sleep no longer. I awoke, ate another trail mix bar from my bag, and drank another couple of glasses of water. I felt much better, the sore throat was gone, and besides the hunger, my stomach felt fine, and the need to vomit had subsided. I took a shower, and decided to begin writing this entry into my…travelogue, I guess you could call it. It is currently seven in the morning, Bjork is serenading me, and I feel like today, I can go back into this foreign land, and seize every opportunity it has for me. Hopefully, it won’t require another day of recovery after. I still have a couple hours before I am to meet some friends to walk over to our first day of Dutch language and culture training, so I think I’ll watch a film, and prepare for the sun to rise on a new day…one that hopefully won’t bring me much closer to my inevitable self-destruction in this new and exciting place called The Netherlands.
