Postcard from the Netherlands.

Grey skies and gold grasses in Zandoort. 

Happy 2017! Personally, I don't think 2016 was such a pig of a year. 2016 saw me in Boracay, among other places, and meeting some uncommonly interesting people. I could devote time to reflecting upon the complexities of my political opinions of 2016 or trying to reduce the entirety of the year down to a single emotion but why? Let's make a New Year prediction and assign 2017 an adjective.  Based on my past few days, I'm running with undeterred. 

Yes, it will rain when you are outside and be sunny whenever you have prearranged museum tickets. Embrace it! 

I already posted about my bumps first arriving in the Netherlands. Broke and barred from my banks, both American and Chinese, I began my vacation. An unreliable AirBnB host, sudden need for a back-up NYE plan, and the dark lights of grocery stores and restaurants after a 22-hour commute had to processed after dealing with the delayed flights and bank issues. As I walked in foggy, cold rain, I pulled my hood on over my head, resolved myself to the fact I was not going to make it to downtown Amsterdam for the epic NYE bash I had planned, and told myself, outloud actually, yes, things weren't going to, you know, plan, but that was okay and I refused to be disappointed. 

Calling Haarlem a little Amsterdam is like calling me a little basketball player. 

Okay. So, let's work that Adapability muscle. Instead of throwing myself into the emotional whims of a few thousand strangers with overpriced drinks and a televised live music and fireworks combo, 
I appealed to my petty, hipster, inner-snob and went to Hasrlem's town square. At 11:50 a few hundred people gathered with bundles of fireworks and took turns in the communal light show. At midnight, handfuls darted into the centre of the circle we all formed to ignite their imported wares. Around town people set their Christmas trees alight. It was quietly optimistic rather than exuberantly triumphant which fit the bill better, so I said to Me, and, you know, more Authentic. (Cough)

If you can't please one personality cliche, try another. 

I don't think I did Amsterdam correctly. In my head some hypothetical Traveler is interjecting here with some bunk about how there is no right way to do something but, blah, blah, blah, connecting with the Real Face of a place and blah. Realistically, hi Mom and Dad! And me. I reread these some times. 


Okay, I ate some good food. Good. I've put a bit of thought into that word and considered trying harder but, yeah, I'm sticking with good. It fits.  Walked the usual amount, saw some new things that I didn't photograph well. (You know how there is a perfect word for everything but it's just a matter of whether or not it's in your personal lexicon? Vemödalen.)  I got to delight in being able to communicate easily with natural language. Sherlock stuff was all over the place. Yeah, a full list of emotions all over the satisfied spectrum were felt. 

Something, something, something unique perspective and angles.

Highlights! 

The Anne Frank House actually changed how I understood her diary. Being in those rooms, standing under the dinghy yellow light with those back out curtains drawn, made the empty rooms feel smaller despite the number of visitors physically able to fit in. Also, you should Google the photo of Otto Frank, her father, standing in the attic in the 70s. It's one of the few photos were you actually see a man look nearly broken. 


The Van Gogh Museum made me go from being indifferent to VG to actually annoyed.  I intend to write a scathing comment on Trip Advisor about the impressively shitty audio guide I rented where you had to scroll left and right to find the random number you needed and then, finally, "knowledge" like "The tree is pink and the sky is green," is given. Gee. Thanks. That aside, I was listening to the stupid audio guide I rented 'cause I really wanted to understand Van Gogh more and I heard two people discussing a painting we were near. I just read the sign on the wall (which was a LOT more informative than the "do you see the figures in the painting?" the guide was saying) about how VG chose the colours of this particular piece to convey madness and anxiety. Behind me, "wow, this. This piece. Look at the warm colours he used. The reds and yellows are so inviting! This piece feels so comforting!"  Even if I can repress my gag reflex at VG's 16-year-old-SJW-like impressively condescendingly patronisation of the poor, you are still left with paintings with cartoonish anatomy and ineffective color choices. I can appreciate the sinner but hate the sin. Van Gogh is overrated. 

Meanwhile in an abandoned and desolate part of the museum works Not Van Gogh were amazing. 

The Heineken Experience. Well, the clue is in the name. It's not called a brewery tour. It's called an experience and, in a  conscious effort to be undeterred, I ...got to experience the surreal feeling of watching, literally, my mother's beer try to prove to you how young and hip it is. "Our beer is SNATCHED!" it's made from hops and water and barley and yeast... But mostly our Magic Green is more kick ass than a magnet ripping your belt off as you complete a try in Rugby in front of 5,000 hot chicks, who all love you, with dance music pounding so hard your pancreas has its own pulse!  Yeah! Heineken!!! 

Yeah!!!! Party time!!!!!!! Turn up bass!!!!!! ....anyone? Turn. Turn up?

There was a city-wide art exhibition, The Festival of Lights, scattered all through town. Most of the pieces confirmed for me, again, that I am a horrible person for thinking 98% of all modern art is absolute garbage. It was a nice walk, however, that took me though several kilometres of Amsterdam. 

This was supposed to explain the intangible delicacy and constant destruction/regeneration of life. I see an eight-year-old's drawing of a dragon fighting a giant STD. 

I liked Amsterdam. I did. I am just a bad person who, in the words of Tim Minchin,  "don't believe just 'cause ideas are tenacious it means that they're worthy."

Anyway, you can't walk around two cities for three days and feel like you saw a country. No, for that, you cram in a superficial visit to a bunch of places on day four! Now you're a frood who knows where her towel is!

This post is lacking cheese. 

On day four I picked up a companion, another American chick bumbling through Europe. Blue-haired, fresh from three months in Scandinavia, with a new love waiting for her in Norway, we talked about politics, identity, Iceland, and food (Dear Diary. Today I met an actual foodie!)
through Gouda, The Hague, and Zandoort. Was the beach what I pictured? Did The Hague live up to its refined reputation? Did I eat my weight in cheesy goodness in Gouda? 

Crossing these dunes, oddly enough, did not lead us to a beach. 

You know the answer to these questions. Never flinch! Never faulter! Something not what you hoped for? Well, pretend you're  a first-year photographer and "try to find the beauty in the everyday!" No? Well, there's always alcohol. 

Next time my coworkers all start sharing pics of them with their husbands or kids, I am pulling this out. 

Maybe it's the music playing whilst I henpeck this or the fact I just watched the new Sherlock episode, I am leaving  the Netherlands feeling content, feeling okay, feeling at-peace but very aware of flaws. Amsterdam was a place where things went south a few times but, despite the negative impressions I am giving off, I had a pretty good time. No need for a synonym there. Good is, again, a correct word for this. So, if NYE and the days around it set the tone for the rest of the year. Alright. We can do this. 

Come at me, 2017. I refuse to not have fun!


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