drunken cranberries and other universal truths

The Wednesday night before Thanksgiving has been drunken cranberry night since I learned, that first year I was entrusted with a dish, that you can't hurry along the gelling process, no matter how much you swear, cry or plead with the side-dish gods. I remember having to stop at the local 7-11 to buy (gasp!) canned sauce because mine was a sloppy, liquid mess. As I got of out the Ford Escort Pony and hurried through the doors, I said to myself, "As God is my witness, I will never eat canned again!"

So it is with great glee that I announce my drunken cranberry prowess IN METRIC. Tomorrow I go to Thanksgiving dinner with many American gourmets who probably will poo-poo my traditional whole-berry compote, but who cares! It is Wednesday, I am fresh from a canal boat party (with wigs) courtesy of one of our clients, and my sauce in now gelling on the counter. So Happy Thanksgiving everybody!

Mimi and Bill were here last week for a visit. So strange how a mom makes anyplace feel like home. We wandered around and I tried to show them what my normal life looks like -- bike routes, my wacky office, markets, etc. A pleasure to see their smiling faces here.

USA! USA! USA!

What a week it has been. I stayed up until 1am Tuesday night to watch early election returns come in on the NBC broadcast, but, since was really nothing to see, I reluctantly went to bed with hope in my heart and fear in my stomach. When I woke up, I set the laptop on the edge of the bathtub and spent an hour trolling the online newspapers and getting progressively giddy as more races were called blue. My friends have been asking lots of questions about the implications of the election and I have taken a perverse pleasure in explaining the federal system and what the Dems could do in Congress. Every social studies teacher (and Schoolhouse Rock episode) who detailed the minutiae of the three branches to me as a kid deserves a thank you. It has been a wonderful thing to talk politics without feeling embarrassed by election results. Oh! And I just discovered the wonder of Keith Olbermann on MSNBC. I heart him.

Last night I went to a meet-in event at a local bar all by myself. Meet-in is a group of people who get together to do all sorts of things: eat out at different restaurants, travel, run, see music, go to events, and have casual get-togethers. Though most of the members are ex-pats, there are lots of Dutch people involved as well. This was my second event -- the first was a Thai dinner a few months ago -- and it was a HUGE deal for me to actually show up. I have chickened out of going to things probably 10 times because the idea of walking into a room without knowing anyone is terrifying. But I did it (I was feeling buoyant because I had gone out for a little wine with friends from work and had spent two hours talking politics) and it was great. I met a man named Max from Rome, a lawyer for the International Tribunal in The Hague who is working on prosecuting Yugoslav war criminals as well as Charles Taylor, and a guy who was brought over from Cardiff to coach the Amsterdam hockey team. Hockey, you say? Isn't that played on ice? Nope. Men's field hockey. And this guy and lawyer dude tried to tell me that field hockey is real hockey and ice hockey is somehow fake. Now, I can take the whole soccer/football superiority thing, but field hockey? Come on! I actually said, "Isn't that just a sport for girls?" Ahhh yea.

Tomorrow I cook a Mexican-themed lunch for the Sunday club, which I think will be fabulous. I will try to remember to take some photos because these pages are getting fairly bland.

I wish I had a video camera in my eye

Because if I did, I would have filmed my bike ride home for you. It was late and I was feeling fairly happy after drinks and a movie and some more drinks and good conversations with friends. It rained hard tonight and the wind is whipping the leaves off the trees, but when I finally rode home, the moon was out and it had warmed up a little bit. Instead of riding my normal route, I took a bit of a detour and wound up cutting across the museumplein on the cobblestone path that is lit by NOTHING. And the museumplein is a big grassy field in between the Rijksmuseum and the Concertbauw and the VanGogh museum, so riding in the dark, with only the moon and the little LED light from HEMA for illumination, and the shadows of these immense buildings in the corners, was amazing. I said out loud (and may be tempting fate, in which case I urge the powers that be to recognize my overly-active enthusiasm streak and not mistake it for hubris), "Look at my life. How lucky am I?" Because it was beautiful and silent and for one second I was the only girl in the world.

On another note: check out my friend Amelia's blog. She is practicing for Project Runway 4 by having her friends issue fashion challenges on Friday, which she then completes (brilliantly) by Sunday night. She "makes it work" like no one I know. Seriously, you will never encounter someone with so much drive, passion, humor and strength. Do yourself a favor and get on board her crazy fashion train. You won't be sorry.

NYC baby!

I had a great weekend with Tom in New York/New Jersey/Connecticut and got the requisite first visit back out of the way. It was fun to be back in the land of Target and cheeseburgers, but especially great to see old friends and hang out with my boyfriend. The weather was perfect and I got to see New England autumn leaves at their finest when we journeyed up to Mystic for a touristy day trip. It was so freaking quaint I almost passed out.

When I got on the plane, I was so surprised to hear only English spoken by the flight attendants -- and American at that. I just expected to hear Dutch first, or at least second, as we jetted across the Atlantic. Newark was filled with chaos and noise and I felt sorry for anyone who wasn't a native English speaker who landed there. The directions and signs made no sense to anyone! Welcome to America: fill out these forms and don't use your cell phone in customs.

Manhattan was, as always, perfect, and I am certain that I will end up there, but I was excited to get back home to Amsterdam. If Tom were here with me, I would officially be the luckiest gal in the land. As it is, I get to visit the city I love and come back to a city that I am developing a bit of a reluctant crush on.

More fun with meat!

It is a lovely Saturday afternoon where I am equally jazzed about the perfect heating system in the apartment (10ft. radiators on either side of the 18ft. windows, as well as radiators almost everywhere else you can think of, including directly below the towel bar in the bathroom, AND heating elements under the floors), Richard Swift's double album "The Novelist" and "Walking Without Effort," and my serendipitous lunch/dinner.

After wandering around town on my bike, really enjoying the late autumn feel of things (the bitter smell of fallen leaves, cold wind, and the anticipation of wearing tights and gloves and big coats), I went to Dirk (pronounced dairck) and bought the ingredients for the quintessential autumn meal: sauerkraut, sausage and brussel sprouts. The sauerkraut and sprouts were no problem to find, but the sausage posed a problem. When one is dealing with tube meats, it is difficult to decide what to buy under the best of circumstances, but when the meats contained within those tubes is labeled in a language that bares no resemblance to Hillshire Farms, it becomes nothing but blind guesswork. Apparently I learned nothing from my unfortunate sausage experience in Spain, where I thought I was buying a salami-type thing to go with the (e)cheese, olives, and bread we were having for a snack, but instead bought raw sausage. (LeeAnne nicely reminded me that only buying sausage found outside the refrigerated meat case might prevent this from happening again.) Instead of remembering that advice, I went ahead and bought something in a tube that I thought resembled American-style-German sausage. Actually, that is a lie. I saw some sausage that looked EXACTLY like the sausage I remember. It was in the "wurst" section of the supermarket and would have been just the same as anything available at Fred Meyer. Did I put down the three links I had bought in the meat section? No. I did not.

Long story short...I cut it up (it was indeed raw and also very soft) and put it in the pan, where it promptly turned brown. It wasn't until I started singing, "Have it your way," that I realized I had bought ground beef and not sausage at all. So instead of throwing in the sauerkraut, I threw in some canned mushrooms, tomato sauce, zucchini and potato slices. It is delicious, and now I can look forward to my German dinner later in the week, especially since I now know that not all tube meats are created equal.

corner turning and other such things

Ever since LeeAnne left, I have felt much more comfortable here. I found a running route and have enjoyed the autumn from the paths in Vondelpark and surrounding areas, which has helped tremendously. They roll out Christmas out very early here and have strung lights up over the streets, as well as put out holiday chocolate (featuring Sinterklaas and Black Peter - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sinterklaas) and decorations. There was a festival called "Rocket Cinema" where djs from all over the world were asked to score old movies and spin the music live at venues throughout the city. I went to the festival closing where the movie "Tampopo" was shown and a Japanese dinner was served simultaneously. It was a great event - perfectly executed and very cool. It seems that there is something very unique happening every weekend and all it takes is a bit of effort to get out. Dutch class is going well. I really like our teacher and leave class grinning like a fool every week. It makes a difference to learn a bit of the language, as it helps me feel like I am becoming part of things. I go to New York next week for four days, which will be great. Being back in the US, even for a bit, will be interesting.

And that is all. There isn't anything too dramatic to tell. I am knitting like a crazy person, as usual for this time of year. And my dinner tonight was fabulous: green pepper pate, great bread, fresh green beans and delicious wine. Love being in Europe!

Donde esta the week?

Just like that, we are back in Amsterdam. We are we for only a few hours more, as LeeAnne has to go home this morning. It has been such a fun ten days with her, and I feel as if I have been on holiday for about a month. To have a sister as a best friend is perhaps the greatest thing ever.

Also great: Sevilla. Tapas. Walking back from dinner at midnight, in October, in short sleeves and not being cold. Palm trees. The Alcazar Palace and gardens. Gothic, gothic, gothic! Unexpected bull rings. Signs with chefs on them. Signs with three-dimensional shoes on them. Charming alleyways. Jasmine and other mysterious nighttime flower smells. A man almost falling down because he tripped while admiring you. Gelato. Salmorejo. Olivos. Cute, but raw, sausage. Jamon con hoofs on handy slicing stands. Dusty splendor. Spanish women swarming the gypsy fan seller and buying up the stock. Ladies who dress. Ladies who reminded us of our aunties. Small boys in short pants. Buying caramel-based snacks in the park on Sunday. Fried fish. Fried mushrooms. Fried squid with the eyeballs. Patatas bravas. Cute old men smoking wee cigars (with random facial hairs) who talk you up. Frightening cherubs. Close ups on the tile. Siesta. Relics with real bones. Catholic overabundance. Learning to use our camera features. Dusty feet. Vast hand gestures.

Perhaps the best vacation I have ever had. More photos to come...

Sissies in Spain

The day began with a 4:45am cab pick up with a driver in too much makeup switching the station the minute she saw that I was enjoying, “Pass the Dutchie” on the radio. Adios grumpy Holland. Hello cheerful Spain.

Beautiful, warm sun and palm trees outside the airport made me wonder if I had landed in a mid-March trip to LA from 10 years back, but the Spanish on the radio quickly reminded me that I was is Catalonia, not East County. I managed to piece together the general theme of the talk-radio show that the cab driver was listening to (suffice it to say, los Estados Unidos are not popular), which was cool. It seems like my two weeks of Dutch class has actually caused me to remember more French and Spanish, though LeeAnne noticed that I now say “good” with a long oo, like “cool.”

We passed two Startbucks on the way to the hostel. I nearly clawed my way out of the cab. Four months without a Chai Tea Latte!

Once we dropped our bags off, we started wandering around Barrio Gotic. The photos will say it better than I could. Amazingly cool old apartment buildings with iron railings and peeling paint on the shutters. There are little shops or bars/cafes with old men hanging out inside on the ground floors and a general feeling that there could be treasure around every corner. So it’s like the world’s best estate sale, only without the smell of pee and the general creepiness of digging through a dead person’s belongings.

We went to the Contemporary Art Museum, which was quite amazing. The building was kick ass and the collections were, from what we understand, great. Neither LeeAnne nor myself are connoisseurs of the contemporary art, so we wouldn’t necessarily know what was what. But it definitely had it’s moments and made me appreciate living in a world where so much randomness not only exists, but is put on walls in places that charge admission. I felt a wee bit of kinship with some of the artists – living out on the skinny branches or seeing humor in things that no one finds funny – it made me happy.

And speaking of funny. When we went walking through the Barrio Gotic on Wednesday night, we came across the remains of the Roman battlements shining in the moonlight (shut it. They were shining.), both LeeAnne and I cracked up when I said, “This doth represent a wall.” Does anyone else find that funny? Did anyone else’s family have a collective joke based on a line from “Midsummer Night’s Dream?” No? See. We are freaks. Freaks!!

Gaudi. Amazing. We went to the Casa Mila around 7 and were shuttled onto the roof quite quickly because that is what closes first. We arrived in time to see the sun go down and a storm roll in. Incredible light on incredible structures. We kept saying, “This is so cool. This is so cool.” Over and over. Except LeeAnne thought I was saying, “This is so good,” because of my new Dutch accent.

Total sissy domination. Part one.

My sister arrived yesterday to great fanfare and a very large sign. Our reuniting caused many smiles among the others at the airport. Yes. I finally made Dutch people smile. Miracles never cease. We hit the ground walking as soon as she got to the apartment, showered off the gross airplane air and changed clothes. LeeAnne, what was your first impression of my apartment? "Tall windows and very peaceful," she says. Thanks for that.

We went on a canal boat cruise in the late afternoon, which is something I hadn't done yet, and it was so worth it! We sat outside and took in the different views of the city. I hadn't appreciated how different the canal houses are and how interesting the architecture is until I saw it from that low angle. We saw a private boat with a wedding reception on board, with the bride and groom dancing to the trumpet played by an old guy in his own small row boat sailing alongside the big one. It was charming and weird -- just like the crazy city I call home.

After the cruise we walked around the center and over to the red light district. Eew. That is all I can say about that. Just icky. We wound up walking all the way back to de Pijp and getting take-away Idonesian food from a place around the corner from my house. We were looking at the menu and (great) review in the window when a man who was just leaving started talking to us about how great the food is and where we are from and happiness and joy, blah, blah, blah. It was incredible. My sister gets the Dutch to talk within five hours of arrival. She says, "I have a smiley face." So unfair... The food was amazing and I was proud that we ordered off of photos of food on the wall without not really knowing what it was we were eating.

We got up early this morning at took the ferry to the monthly flea market in North Amsterdam. We actually took two ferries, but the first one was wrong, so it doesn't count. The market was great -- huge and a little dingy. I think it must of been what Expo was like before it got all fancy. I brought home a few more vases (naturally) and some other ceramics of the mid-century persuasion. LeeAnne bought a bowl covered with Dutch ration stamps from the Nazi occupation of 1940 - 1945. The back has a inscription that says something like, "There was no bread. The Germans starved us." It is so cool and will be a good history lesson for JJ and Annie. What other kids get to learn about WWII through a bowl their mom bought in Amsterdam? And there were some small pancakes involved as well.

After the market, we went back to town and went to lunch at Mel's house with Peter, Guy and Martin. As usual, it was amazing. The conversation was interesting a challenging and the company was sterling. We got home about 8:30 and LeeAnne planned her route for tomorrow. She is now asleep on her cot while a thunder and lightning storm rages outside. I don't ever want her to leave. It is so easy having her here in my life. We laugh and talk and joke around just like the best friends that we are.

If I laugh, is it funny?

I haven't written enough about the adventures that Tom and I had during his visit. First, it wasn't all melancholy and crying, it was actually quite fun and funny, at least I hope so.

- Tom and I went to Melanie's house for a Sunday lunch on his first weekend here. Mel and Tom hit it off when he was here in July, so it was a lovely invitation. We arrived at 3pm and he was properly blown away by her apartment. It is amazing -- very art deco with an incredible view of a canal right in front of huge bay windows. She has over 100 antique radios all over the place and some of the best artwork I have ever seen on the walls. And the girl can cook! My coworker Peter was at lunch too, so we did the introductions and settled down to eat. Fast forward to 11pm when Tom and I get back to my house. There were many bottles of wine and port consumed over the course of many hours and a trip to the brown cafe on the corner as well. Great conversation and lots of laughing. It was the kind of Sunday you imagine having when you think about living in Europe and it didn't disappoint.

- When you invite people out to play pool, it is important to know whether or not that green table at your local pub is actually a pool table and not a billiards table. About five people showed up and all looked blankly at the table with no pockets.

- We went to the Holland Casino on Tuesday night because Tom kept pointing out casinos everywhere we went and I thought he really wanted to go. As we are leaving the apartment, I asked him if he thought he should bring his passport. He said no. When we get to the casino we are immediately asked for photo id. I tried not to gloat. So he left to go back to the house while I went in to play the slots. Cut to 15 minutes later when I am wandering around trying to figure out how to use my Euro cents on the machines. I hear, "Mrs. Miller, Mrs. Miller" and turn around slowly and a bit frightened. A man in Sally Rafael glasses and lots of hair tells me that my husband is waiting for me in the lobby. My "husband" forgot his keys and had been waiting for me to come by the lobby since I went in. Look at me keeping patient! Look at me being loving! I gave him my keys and sent him on his way with once direction: hurry. I went back into the casino and wound up asking the man at the cash desk how I buy tokens with my coins.

Here is our exchange:
K: Excuse me, but how do I buy tokens for the slot machines?
M: You use the token machines (pointing to machines that looked suspiciously like the machines you use to get golf balls at a driving range)
K: But those machines only take paper money. Where do I use my coins?
M: You can't use coins.
K: I can't use coins in the machines at all?
M: No.
K: Can I give you coins to change into paper money?
M: No.
K: So I can't use my coins anywhere in this casino?M: No.
K: So the smallest amount of money I can use in this casino is a five Euro note?
M: Yes.
K: Really?
M: Yes.

When in Rome...
So I put a 5E note in a slot machine and promptly lost it in two spins. Then I got angry because I didn't get 5E worth of enjoyment from those two spins and went to sulk at the front gate and wait for Tom to arrive. Note to ladies: a woman standing alone in the front entrance of a casino draws all sorts of paranoid attention from casino management. When Tom got there, looking flustered and out of breath, he got in line to show his id and pay the entrance fee. Unfortunately, the line was quite long and Interpol seemed to have some issues with some of the guests. After 10 minutes of waiting and not moving, he looked at me and said, "Let's just go."

I went through the gates to meet him and as we walked out he said to the man in the Sally glasses, "Sorry, but the line is just too long." The man smiled and said, "OK!" Tom was amazed that he didn't care. Silly boy. It turns out that Tom doesn't even really like casinos and only points them out because there are so many of them, so I am off the hook for all future ventures of this sort.

Before I forget

I was on the train yesterday morning, going to the airport to pick up Nicole, my friend from W+K Portland who is visiting Amsterdam and Paris this week. Across the aisle from my seat were three Dutch men sitting together. They were around my age and were obviously friends by the way they were talking and laughing (the Dutch would be amazing actors in terms of volume and diaphramatic breathing -- they could fill a big room).

About five minutes after we left Central Station, one of the men passed out xeroxed copies of a chess game diagram -- like the daily chess moves in the newspaper, but many of them all on one page -- to great fanfare and excitement. You had to smile because it was so odd and so nice all at the same time.

And now the end of the story. There was a heated discussion at one point (in Dutch), where the vowels got longer and the chins got waggier. When a final point was made that no one could dispute, all three went, "Yeuuuuup. Yeuuuuup. Yeuuuuup. Yeup. Yeup. Yeup," exactly like the Yip Yip puppets from Sesame Street. Inside, I was in hysterics.

White knuckling it

Sorry! Sorry! I know I have been a bit of a slacker on the blogging front. It isn't for lack of thought. Actually, I blame too much thought for my reluctance to write. It has been a tough few weeks. Poor Tom was subject to many crying fits and periods of serious Katie-in-the-pit thrashings. This is hard. I love him so much and want so much to be where he is every second of every day. There was some worry that we would be on each other's nerves when his trip ended, but I was more in love with him on day 20 than I was on day one. It is so easy and so fun and so natural to be together, I have no doubts that he is the love I was made to be with.

So I have this great, supportive relationship and I am a mess in the face of it. Being away from everything that I love -- Tom, my friends, my family, even the great yellow light and blue sky of a Portland September -- is tearing me up. I feel like I can't get my footing here, though I am very aware that I am having an amazing experience while slipping around. Whenever I go to the really dark place of doubt, I remember that I have people pulling for me -- people who believe I can do this, and they aren't only in America -- some of them are friends I have made here. The very best part is that I know these people will support me if I come home early or decide that I can only do one year here. No matter what, I will not regret this.

As I am writing, I am playing my "Trust Yourself" play list on iTunes. I cannot tell you how much it helps to have a soundtrack of kick-assity. As "Midnight Radio" plays in the background, I know that I will be all right...just like Hedwig.

And for the record, my mom is the best mom in the entire world. I get to hug her in just under two months!

PRAGUE: City of Meat

We just got back from Prague and are happily eating Pad Thai from the restaurant around the corner and watching NFL football live on tv. It is a great end to a great weekend. I will describe.

I was in Prague eight years ago when mom and I went for a week in late March, so I was expecting changes -- both because inter-European travel is so much easier now (total access with EU passports, common currency and inexpensive airlines) and because September is still considered high tourist season, while March is the end of low-season -- but it still surprised me how many people were there. I would guess 90% European tourists, mostly Spanish and Italians, but also quite a few of drunken British men as well. I am learning that they, along with the ubiquitous fake Irish bars that they frequent for football and beer, are considered the modern scourge of the continent.

The city has cleaned up a bit, especially around the Old Town Square. There are more shops and restaurants around and many more tacky souvenir stands as well. At points I was discouraged because it seemed like the Prague I remembered was completely gone, covered up and turned into Canon Beach, but I was wrong. They key, I think, was to go places I didn't go the first time, so I had nothing to compare to, and to be open to the weirdness that is still VERY much there. It was charming to see that, as Western as Prague is trying to be, and to a large part succeeding at being, there are things that are just a little off -- a little blue eye shadow and bad barrettes -- that keep it firmly Eastern European.

Some highlights:
- Friday night we got a bit fancied up and went to find dinner. The first, nice place we tried was booked, so we asked for a recommendation at the hotel and wound up at The Seven Angels -- a cross between the restaurant in "Fast Times at Ridgemont High" were Stacy and Mark Ratner went on their date (and Mark forgot his wallet so they drank 20 Cokes until Demone comes with Mark's wallet, thereby introducing Chekhov's gun to the story) and the first nice restaurant you ever go to where you order off the real, not kids, menu. The tables were high and the wine glasses were enormous, adding to the feelings of wee. The restaurant served traditional Czech cuisine, so I had the chef's specialty - pink roast duck breast - and Tom had the Old Bohemian plate - a whole duck, a thick slice of pork and a slice of ham. MMMMMeat. And potato pancakes. There were musicians there playing traditional gypsy music (though there was some Tom Jones thrown in there -- who knew "Delilah" was the stuff of caravans?) and making us all clap at points. It was cheesy and touristy and delicious and really fun.

- We went for a walk after dinner on Friday and got lost amidst the alleys of Old Town. I am not being poetic, I am being serious. Lost. After that we made a point to always carry a map. If you see me in December, ask me to show you where on the grid Stare Mesto is.

- Almost all Saturday was spent in Mala Strana. We walked up behind the castle and wound up coming up, over a hill with a view that actually made me cry. The day flowed from one thing to another. We saw a lot and were surprised by the experiences that came by surprise. Tom shot a cross bow at a target in the armament room of the castle, we saw an amazing photography display in the castle garden that juxtaposed photos of New York in 1973 with Pompeii. Whoever picked the locations for the photos (which were mounted on clear plexiglass, so the landscape and view became the frame) did a phenomenal job. We had a surreal experience in the Kafka museum (what did the surrealists and existentialists talk about?), walked across the Charles Bridge as the sun was going down, and enjoyed many beers through the day.

- Saturday night we decided to try the fondue at the hotel restaurant. For me, fondue means cheese. For the restaurant, fondue meant a pot of hot oil and a platter of raw...wait for it...meat. I can't say it was delicious, but it was an experience not to be forgotten.

- Sunday we went to the Jewish Quarter, which I will write about at another time, and watched the runners finish the Prague Marathon in Old Town Square. I kept thinking about all that that square has witnessed, and the strangeness of our modern world. Who could have imagined, even 15 years ago, that runners in 100 Euro shoes and lycra shorts would fill the streets. It didn't seem like it would have been possible.

To see the rest of my Prague photos, visit this site: http://www1.snapfish.com/thumbnailshare/AlbumID=57272918/a=73549940_73549940/t_=73549940

Jiff peanut butter and other tasty treats

The Present Sherpa arrived on Thursday morning for a three week visit. Honestly, Tom's two suitcases were filled with missed items from America, including Jiff Extra Crunchy Peanut Butter. WOO HOO! Oh sugary goodness, how I missed thee. He also brought many things from Trader Joes and a stereo system for my iPod and the September issues of my magazines. Of course he only had room left in his bags for a pair of socks and a comb, and one arm is now definitely longer from carrying my jars of salsa verde, but who am I to argue?

I finally got a Pepper update yesterday and she is doing great. Her new owner said, "Pepper is quite a dog," which is perfect because it sums up just how crazy and loving and trying and fun she is. It sounds like her life is really good - lots of time in the water, going to the trap club, chasing squirrels and playing with Bob and Kathy's grandchildren. Bob said that when the kids are there, Pepper won't let them out of her sight. It is such a relief to know that she is ok. A huge weight off my shoulders for sure.

On the work front, I have been super busy working on a project for Nike Italy Football that started small and quite tactical but has now blown up to a huge campaign. There was a press conference last Monday where the local client unveiled the eight posters that we have been working on and the eight Nike players from the Italian team were all there! Including Cannavaro, the freaking captain of the team. And all the players wore t-shirts with their poster slogan on them. And all the newspapers and the evening news covered it. A press conference. For a poster campaign. I am not kidding. Viva Italia!

Tom and I go to Prague on Friday morning and I have already warned him that I will be singing INXS songs while walking over the Charles Bridge. He has no idea what I am talking about, but smiles and nods politely. Such a nice man.

A heavy Sunday

It has been a stormy Sunday morning spent reading, drinking coffee, listening to forgotten music and thinking. Uh oh.

On the topic of happiness: If I were George Michael circa 1985, I would be wearing a t-shirt that said, "CHOOSE LIGHT." It is a conscious decision for me to laugh and keep things simple and light, and that makes the days in Amsterdam brighter, but that doesn't mean I am happier here or that I have stopped being serious on the inside. I still need my days of melancholy and hours of staring out at nothing. I know that there are people in this world who don't wrestle with phantoms, and perhaps they are the true happy ones, but I am not one of them. If I deny the dark parts of me in an effort to appear constantly sunny (for whose benefit?) I deny the part of me that feels and experiences a deeper part of life. And those deeper feelings and experiences bring me a profound happiness. What I am learning is that it is possible to be sunny and serious at the same time and that happiness, for me, may be much more about peace of mind than anything else.

On the topic of loss: I realize that I didn't lose everything from the past few years because my memories of the people and places and pets that I loved are still clear. My years were not wasted just because the end was painful. When I was at the market yesterday, waiting for my fish to be cleaned, I heard the Simon and Garfunkel song, "America" playing from the DVD booth. Jeff and I listened to my vinyl copy of "Bookends" lots and lots in the months around 9/11, and I had downloaded the song just last week in a moment of nostalgia. To hear it again, after not hearing it for years, while in the middle of a uniquely "Katie's-life-in-Amsterdam" experience brought my past and my present together in a weirdly wonderful way. Though he is gone, there are years of shared moments that are still important to me and I don't want to bury those memories any more -- I want to honor the good times we had. A gentle, peaceful Jeff has been showing up in my dreams a lot lately - the guy who was happy staring at nothing in the middle of nowhere - and he keeps telling me goodbye. I look forward to the day when I can gently and peacefully tell that favorite version of the man I loved goodbye too. I am getting there.

On the topic of trips: I am taking Tom to Prague for a long weekend next month and then LeeAnne and I are spending a week in Spain in October. Prague will be fascinating to see through different eyes (both his first-time view and my second-time with a fair amount of additional knowledge view) and I am certain just as beautiful as I remember. And Spain will be fabulous. If anyone has Barcelona or Seville suggestions, I'd be glad to get them. And we can all look forward to a week of (e)Spanish cheeses. Muy bueno! Muy delicioso!

Phun with photos

I made a concerted effort last Sunday to take photos of the normal details of Amsterdam life, and to learn more about what my camera can do lens, shutter and colour-wise. So sit back and enjoy a little tour.

This is a boat moored on the canal next to my apartment. Though the blur makes it hard to see (I didn't say the camera affects were all GOOD), the red and white umbrella is freaking adorable. The red and white plastic bags you get when you buy produce at the markets are freaking adorable too.


The "I amsterdam" campaign is all over the city. This sign in on Museumplein, in front of the Rijks and VanGogh museums and is either loved or hated by people who live here because it is huge and in English and quite blatant. I like it.

And the following:
Giant chessboard by the Leidesplein.

Street scene.

Bridge detail.

I must give a shout out to Ms. Stacy Bolt, who included "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" on her most excellent farewell music compilation "Amsterdamn!" I did a chair dance and Diana Ross-worthy lip-synch while grinning like a mad woman and wiping away happy tears. Thanks lady.

Gay Day

Amsterdam hosts the largest Gay Pride celebration in the world, so I donned my pink feather boa and motorcycle boots and went forth to soak the fabulousness in.


There is a massive boat parade on the Prinsengracht canal that an estimated 35,000 people watch from the bridges and alongside the water. I got to see the parade from a lovely top-floor apartment right on the canal -- enjoying cocktails and food while waving at the boys and girls from above. The floats were essentially giant dance parties with great outfits.

Some notes from the field:
- One float had men dressed in Rembrant-era neck ruffs and short shorts.

- The float with older (much older) men and women who were dancing in pink polo shirts and rainbow leis was a classy and dignified contrast to the youngsters on the other boats. It was charming and very heartening to see.

- This was a family event, meaning that Dutch families (moms, dads and kids) were out on their small boats watching the parade go by. It was a joyful and entertaining event and it was nice to see people just enjoying the energy without judgment or fear.

And me? I wound up dancing on a stage and having a blast and then drunk dialed my parents when I got home. Cuz that’s the way I roll.

Kröller-Müller

On Wednesday, Heidi and I made plans to spend Saturday at the Kröller-Müller museum. It is well outside of Amsterdam, but Heidi had heard great things about it, and getting out of town sounded lovely. I went to the web site and looked up the directions for getting to the museum by train, and I thought I had it all planned out when we met at Central Station this morning at 11:45.

Cut to 4pm, when we actually arrived at the park. By that time we had:

- Missed the first train because I had to buy bread and cheese at the station market for the "hour" long ride. OK, there was wine to buy too, but that didn't have anything to do with anything other than fulfilling my romantic notions of what a train picnic should include. Drinking the wine directly from the bottle wasn't so romantic, but that's another story...

- Caught the next train half an hour later, but overshot the stop where we were, apparently, supposed to switch trains. Heidi asked the conductors standing on the platform what we should do, and they said, “Take this one,” pointing to the train in front of us. We went to get on, but something told me to ask if we had to change trains again after this stop. They said -- completely deadpan, “Yes. You will need to change trains at the next station.” Good to know. And that is the Dutch system of communication in a nutshell. You’ll get 85% of the information you need, but you’ll have to guess what questions to ask in order to get the remaining 15%.

- Finally reached the Apeldoorn train station after about 2 1/2 hours, and went to catch the bus to the museum. In the information station, the woman told us, after laughing at our pronunciation of the museum name, the bus ride takes half an hour, comes once an hour, and we just missed it.

- Thrown a hissy fit and almost went back to Amsterdam, but went instead to use the WC (.50 cents), where I couldn’t find the button to flush the toilet, and a woman who had already paid for HER turn and opened the door as I was pushing anything that resembled a button. Heidi couldn’t find the button in her WC either, so we had a bit of a laugh as the woman hurried me out because, “I paid 50 cents and can’t close the door now because I will have to pay again.” So I gave up my stall and walked quickly away.

- Caught the bus and learned that we would have to transfer to a small, white bus, after about 30 minutes. Fine. Fine. Whatever. We got off the bus when the driver told us (after passing some really cool houses) and boarded a small bus, telling the driver where we wanted to go. By this point we thought we’d just go to the national part that surrounds the museum, since the Kröller-Müller closed at 5. So we told the driver we wanted to go to Hoge Veluwe park and he said, “OKAY! I can take you there.” We drove for about 10 minutes and then saw the same buildings go by. He drove us in a circle! Seriously! About 500 metres past the point where we started, we arrived at the park and the fun really began.

Everything about the museum was amazing – the architecture, the collection, the sculpture garden, everything. I went in with a grumpy attitude and came out completely jazzed about life. We didn’t have much time there, so I want to go back when I can enjoy the whole place at a slow pace.

The park has over 1500 free white bikes that you can use while you are there. After we left the museum we got on bikes and rode about 10 kilometers to the other side of the park in search of food. We went through forests that smelled like Black Butte in summer and big meadows and, surprisingly, a desert! With sand dunes! Where the heck did that come from?

The restaurant we ended up at only offered a 24.95 all you can eat and drink buffet, which we were so excited about. We ate outside on the patio and enjoyed many sub-par but still strangely satisfying trips to the food bar. Lots more fish offered in the Dutch buffet than at a typical American one. But there was still soft-serve ice cream, so it wasn’t completely different.

The ride home was much easier, as we caught a bus about 200 meters away from the restaurant that took us directly to the central station in another town, where we caught a direct express train to Amsterdam. We got back in a little more than an hour. All told, a great day.

Here's to good friends...

Being away from my friends is the hardest part of this journey. I knew that it would be difficult, but I had no idea how much it would hurt my heart. Though I am over here, part of me is still sitting in a dark restaurant or a sunny courtyard, laughing and gossiping and waxing poetic over a glass of something with my girls (and the odd boy). My friends are amazing, smart, funny and kind. They are patient and tolerant and incredibly special. I am so lucky and so blessed.

You will be happy to hear that, when I was out with work people last week, one of my new friends said, "The best part of going out with Katie is that you never know what she is going to say, but you know it is going to be good." Later in the night, the count of random things I said in all seriousness, but seemed to strike people as funny (why??) was up to 10 and included my feelings toward Tony Blair and John Cleese and my affinity for gay porn. Apparently I was on fire.

And so, my friends, I am the same -- as randomly entertaining to people here as I was there -- but they aren't the same as you and I haven't told you nearly enough how much I love you.

On a serious note: two amazing people I worked with in Portland lost their son last week. Please send some love out into the universe for them.

Bits and pieces

another end to another night...


Thought I would spend odd moments reporting little things about life in Amsterdam that may not be subject line worthy on their own, but are part of a larger, entertaining, entry.

- there are about 10 cats that live around my terrace. They circle the yard on top of the fences and stare at me from the rooftops of garden sheds and buildings. Like I did with soccer players during World Cup, I have made up names for each based on their appearance (the cats have far nicer names than the players). One cat is named Hitler: white face (no duh) and black triangle hair cutting at a 45 degree angle across the forehead and one ear. And a perfect rectangle mustache. I think that Hitler gets hassled regularly by the skinny black cat named Big Balls.

- apparently I have a vase obsession. I moved four over with me, but they are more decorative than usable, so I had to buy two more once I got here, which is nothing to be ashamed of. I have lots of white space to fill! And flowers are plentiful and cheap! But then I ran to the Monday flea market and found three more -- mid-century West German vases in all sorts of colors and sizes. So now I have nine vases. No soap dishes, mind you. But nine vases.

- have I talked yet about the heat wave? It has been hot and humid for about two weeks -- temps well in to the 80s every day. Some of you may scoff, as I know it has been very hot in other places, but the humidity is crazy and I have canals all around me whose water is starting to get funky. I am not one to complain about the weather, especially hot weather, but I am getting bored of having a permanent sweat mustache.

- it was so good to see Heidi last Sunday. We had a very civilized lunch in my apartment and then wandered around the museum district and then to a cafe. As we sang, "Wig in a Box" at full volume from my dining room table, I realized that I am the same person I was -- the same person I like -- from Portland. And as a direct result, this week was the first week that I really felt comfortable and part of things here. I am relaxing a bit and dancing a little more at random moments. And I sang out loud on my bike ride in this morning. Lovely.