Have Yourselves a Merry Little Christmas!

I know. I'm sorry.

But, to be fair, I did say up front that I couldn't promise regular posts.

At least I've been checking in on Facebook, so you know I didn't just vanish from the face of the planet.

Here's a short summary of where I've been in the last month:

London, England

York, England

Edinburgh, Scotland

Glasgow, Scotland

Cardiff, Wales

And now I'm back at my aunt's house in Bad Kreuznach, just in time for Christmas! Evan is here, too, and we've been decorating the Christmas tree, drinking Gluehwein (mulled wine), and wrapping presents since I arrived yesterday afternoon, plus we watched Elf last night, so now it's officially Christmas.

Froehe Weinachten to you and your families! Hope you have a spectacular holiday season.

I'll try to catch up on my posts soon, or at least get some pictures up.

But still no promises.

Paris!

Now I know what all the fuss is about. Paris is AMAZING.

When my train arrived in Paris, I wasn't feeling so hot; I'd been fighting a cold for the last few days and the meds were only just starting to kick in. Nonetheless, I managed to purchase a Metro ticket (after losing 2 Euros to a ticket machine that was clearly a friend of the one in Switzerland) and find the right platform. After about half an hour on the crowded Metro in my winter coat and heavy backpack, I was feeling even worse for wear. So rather than finding a café to wait for Evan as planned, I headed right for the Airbnb. After six flights of steep, narrow stairs, I found myself in a microscopic flat, reminiscent of Linguine's from Disney's Ratatouille, minus the view of the Eiffel Tower.

I flopped onto the bed and didn't move until Evan arrived, three hours later.

The next day, we got a bit of a late start--I was still a little slow-moving--but we managed to have a pretty packed day anyway.

We started by hitting the Tourism Office, to get a Paris Museum Pass--which, by the way, is 112% worth it, if you use it right. (I did.)

We first headed to Notre Dame, probably the best-known cathedral in the world. We explored the main part of the cathedral, then flashed our magic passes (for Evan, that was his international student ID) and headed up the towers, where we had our first bird's-eye view of Paris, as well as an up-close and personal look at some pretty badass gargoyles.

In front of Notre Dame!

On top of Notre Dame!

Soon after, we had our first Parisian macarons. And croissants. And meringues. And pain au chocolats. Basically, we ate our weight in French junk food.

Yum.

We then headed into the Lourve, where we had entirely too much fun using various Snapchat filters on all the Italian statues in the Richelieu gallery.

After our fit of immaturity subsided, Evan and I walked down the Champs Elyssés, the most famous avenue in Paris. It was all lit up for the evening, extra bright and busy thanks to the Christmas market spanning both sides of the street.

At the end of the Champs Elyssés stood the Arc d'Triomphe, a graceful island in the center of what is undoubtedly the most terrifyingly chaotic traffic circles in the world. Luckily, there was a pedestrian underpass to the Arc, so Evan and I once again broke out our all-access passes and scaled several flights of stairs for a dazzling bird's-eye view of Paris at night.

In front of the Arc d'Triomphe!

On top of the Arc d'Triomphe!

Our day finally wound down around 12:30am, after a (very) late pasta dinner, cooked on the hotplate in our (teeny) Airbnb.

We got off to a later start the next morning, but our day was no less busy than the one prior. First up was the Musée d'Orsay, mainly to see the Van Goghs. We ended up spending more time there than we'd anticipated, getting caught up in the Impressionism exhibit and debating whether certain forms of art were truly "art." 

After a lunch break that culminated with a créme brûlée (I may have let my sweet tooth get a little bit out of control), Evan and I made our way back to the Lourve. Luckily the Paris Museum Pass allows for unlimited entry into the museums, because in our childishness the night before, it had completely slipped our minds that the world's most famous painting--listed by Business Insider as one of the most disappointing attractions in Europe--is also housed in the Lourve. So we followed the steady stream of museum-goers into the Italian paintings wing of the Denon gallery, where we were unimpressed by that enigmatic smile. 

He's better at the enigmatic smile than I am.

Now that the Mona Lisa was checked off our bucket lists, we reprised our Snapchat performance of the night before, this time in the Greek statues wing, and showed ourselves out via the Egyptian jewelry exhibit.

Since the sun had set while we were in the museum, the moment that we walked out the doors we could see the Eiffel Tower all lit up. Evan and I decided that it was time we made our tourist pilgrimage to the top. (After all, if you didn't go up in the Eiffel Tower, did you really go to Paris?) We had planned to take the stairs, in the interest of saving a few Euros and burning some calories, but found out upon arrival at the tower that they don't allow people to use the stairs after dark. Safety concerns or something---psh.

So after a chilly forty-five minutes in line, and going through not one, but two security checks, we caught an elevator up to the tippity-top of that iconic ironwork. What a breathtaking view! (Partially because of the wind at that height, but also because it was gorgeous.)

We were even up in the tower when it sparkled, which it does on the hour, every hour that it's illuminated. (Pretty dazzling from far away, but has kind of a strobe-light effect when you're up close and personal.)

It was the best possible way to cap off our last night staying in the city.

After breakfast the next morning, we packed up our things and, weighed down by our backpacks, headed off to see the Eiffel Tower one more time. On our way, we stopped to grab some macarons and croissants. 

I mean, just look at that.

It was a gorgeous day, and so we spent most of it outside, sitting on a bench near the Eiffel Tower and walking through the luxury shopping district and the Christmas market on Champs Elyssés. As darkness fell, Evan and I hopped on a train to Osny, a town a bit northwest of Paris; some friends of Evan's family had invited us to stay with them for a couple of nights.

I was a little nervous, simply because of the language barrier--would it just be awkward silences around the dinner table?--but I had no need to be. Between their son's bit of English and Evan's bit of French (and, okay, a little help from Google Translate), we had a very enjoyable time together. I even managed to pick up a bit of French, simply by being immersed in it! 

Je m'apelle Jess.

On Sunday, after a lovely breakfast including--yes--pain au chocolats, Evan and I took a train to Versailles to see the palace (another attraction that was free with our magic cards). On the ride there, I somehow managed to lose my train ticket out of my ZIPPERED pocket (and I know I had it because Evan watched me put it there), so I had to slip out of the turnstile right behind Evan when he put his ticket in the scanner. 

Arriving at the palace without further incident (only a slight detour through a farmers' market), we were delighted to discover no line at the entrance--one of the perks of traveling during the off-season. Evan and I passed on the audioguides that most of the other visitors had picked up, opting instead to gape at each opulent room to the sound of our own commentary: "How many rooms do you freaking need?"

In the Hall of Mirrors

The gardens were just as mind-bogglingly expansive as the palace, if not more so. After about an hour of wandering through meticulously tended shrubs, gravel paths, and water features, we stumbled upon Petit Trianon, the palace known best as the residence of Marie-Antionette. Our Paris Museum Pass and student ID were proving to be very useful, as they got us in there as well. 

Petit Trianon is a palace of much more manageable proportions than Versailles itself. It is undoubtedly still an extremely luxurious home, but far more tasteful in terms of size and décor. It was possible to imagine a person actually living there.

As we began to meander back towards the train station, the skies opened up. To escape the rain, we took refuge in a café for coffee. Once the liquid sunshine stopped falling, we bought tickets for the next train back to Osny, and I immediately handed my ticket to Evan to hold on to. I wasn't chancing a repeat of the last disappearing act. 

We returned to our hosts' home to find that they had prepared raclette for dinner. If you remember way back to when I was in Switzerland, you'll recall that it's basically reverse fondue, and one of my new favorite foods. So I was pretty darn happy. I was even happier when they topped off the meal with homemade créme brûlée. YUM. 

Between the wonderful food and the wonderful hosts, who made me feel very welcome in spite of the language differences, I was pretty sad to say goodbye the next morning. But Evan and I were off to Rennes, my last stop in France!

Ich Bin Ein Berliner

I really struggled with whether I should "get political" with this post (which is one of the reasons this post took so long). 

I wanted to keep my blog focused on my travels, I wanted it to be a happy place where my readers can come and live vicariously through me and my adventures.

But truthfulness is very important to me as well; that's why I relate my mishaps as well as my triumphs here. It's all part of my experience. So, in the interest of truthfulness, I have to talk a little bit about the presidential election and my thoughts and feelings about it, because they did play a part in my experience in Berlin.

I hope this won't deter anyone from reading this post, but if it does, well, I hope you have a nice day. I can't blame you for being sick of all the political talk.

For those who are sticking with me...

I went to sleep in Berlin pretty early in the evening of November 8th. I slept pretty well, secure in the belief that, though it would be a close race, in the end Hillary Clinton would be our 45th President, not Donald Trump.

I woke up in a very different world than the one I went to sleep in. I checked the election results and felt as if the floor had fallen out from under me. I felt so very wrong-footed and naïve for having believed that there was no way my fellow Americans would really choose Trump and his hateful, divisive rhetoric, no matter how appealing his attitude towards economic reform.

I was scared to leave my hostel room and face the people from other countries. In my travels, every European, every Asian, every Australian that I've spoken to has expressed their dislike for and fear of Donald Trump. I was afraid of how I would be judged as an American now that Trump was our President-elect.

But I made myself go out into the city anyway, making a little extra effort to blend in. I headed to the Brandenburg Gate, where my free walking tour would depart at 10am. I was a little early, and I was shocked to see a crowd of reporters all around the square, until I noticed that all of the cameras were pointed at the American embassy.

At the Brandenburg Gate bright and early

I joined the group of people waiting for the tour, and got to chatting with the tour guide, another friendly Australian who, upon discovering that I was American, half-jokingly offered me the Canadian flag pin he wore. But he was sympathetic to me, apparently the only American brave enough to show up that day, and promised to hold off on making his usual jokes about the US on his tour.

There is a lot of history in Berlin, including of course the Berlin Wall. (Which was actually comprised of an inner wall and an outer wall, with the area in between known as the "death strip," for reasons which should be fairly obvious.) The tour guide related several stories of escape from East Berlin to West, including one family who crossed the wall using a makeshift zipline. In making their getaway, the family was observed by guards at the Wall, who didn't shoot at the escapees because they thought that surely they were East German spies sneaking over to West Berlin for reconnaissance.

We also visited Checkpoint Charlie, the site of a standoff between Soviet troops and American troops during the Berlin Wall era, a standoff that nearly heated up the Cold War into World War 3. Checkpoint Charlie was destroyed when the Berlin Wall came down, but was rebuilt and manned with actors to meet the demands of tourists to Berlin who wanted to see it.

It was funny that my first day in Berlin was the 9th of November. As the tour guide explained, November 9th has earned the nickname Schickalstag, or "Day of Fate," a bit of black humor among Germans. Apparently almost everything of significance in Germany occurs on this date. For example:
--1848: Robert Blum, a major player in the push for German democracy, was executed (which put a damper on the democratic movement for a while)
--1918: Kaiser Wilhelm II abdicated, and the Weimar Republic was established, unifying Germany
--1923: Munich Beer Hall Putsch, the first, unsuccessful attempt by the National Socialist (Nazi) Party to seize power in Munich
--1938: Kristallnacht, or the Night of Broken Glass
--1989: the Berlin Wall opens, reuniting East Berlin and West Berlin

After the tour, I made my way to the Ritter Sport store, which was a mistake. Why? Because Ritter Sport is chocolate and I hadn't eaten lunch. I managed not to lose my head completely and demonstrated admirable restraint in not spending €8 to design my own chocolate bar. That being said, I did still drop a decent chunk of change there (but mostly on gifts, I swear).

So. Much. Chocolate.

I then decided that lunch should be the next item on my agenda, so I found an Imbiss (the German equivalent of a hot-dog stand) and managed not only to order a bratwurst and fries, but also to make small talk with the woman working the Imbiss, entirely in German! 🎉

You can't tell me that doesn't make your mouth water.

Next stop was the Topography of Terror, a museum located near the longest remaining segment of the outer Berlin Wall. The Topography of Terror features exhibits about what life was truly like in Berlin under the Nazi regime, and some of the reasoning behind the strategies that the Nazis used.

Pretty heavy stuff, so, as I'm sure you can imagine, I felt like my day was pretty much done after that. I walked back across town to my hostel, stopping to grab a salad for dinner on the way (my body was really jonesing for some veggies after the bratwurst and fries).

After a night of tossing and turning, I got up and went for a run (both for my sanity and to put the brakes on my downward spiral into out-of-shapeness).

I ran through Berlin's main park, the Tiergarten, and found myself at the foot of the Victoria statue.

It was then, taking a short stretching break in the shadow of the monument, that I noticed the sole of my right running shoe was peeling away from the upper. That, combined with the stench emanating from my shoes when I pulled them off three kilometers later, made me think that maybe I should invest in a new pair of running shoes.

Luckily, my German was sufficient enough to navigate the shoe section of a department store without incident, and I emerged half an hour later with clearance-rack Asics. Score.

My mission for footwear successfully accomplished, I meandered around the city in the sunshine, stopping to grab some Chinese food for a late lunch/early dinner as it got dark. It was a bit of a hike back to my hostel from where I'd wandered to, so I had to make a pit stop for provisions (coffee and some sort of chocolate-caramel-almond concoction) on my way.

By the time I got back to my hostel, I was feeling the need to socialize, so I headed downstairs to my hostel's bar, where I got myself a liter of beer--because Germany--and introduced myself to a couple of people who clearly shared my opinion that a stein of beer sounded good.

A liter of beer makes for a great conversation starter, or so I'm learning.

I spent most of the next day at the Berlin Zoo, which has over 20,500 individual animals of 1,500 different species, making it the most diverse zoo in the world.

I had a blast.

My inner child was thrilled to be outside looking at animals of all shapes and sizes, rather than inside staring at more boring paintings and fiddly things behind glass in yet another museum. I stayed at the zoo from open to close.

Llamas! (Or maybe alpacas. I forget.)

Fish face!

The next day, I'd planned to do an "alternative" tour of the city, featuring some of the hot spots for graffiti and the more hipster bars in Berlin. But when I arrived 15 minutes before the tour was scheduled to begin, I was told that the tour was completely booked up. Though I was glad to have an excuse not to shell out 13 Euros, I was a bit crestfallen. I perked up, though, when the tour guide offered to mark on my map some of the more interesting stops on the tour route, so I could check them out on my own.

One of those places was the East Side Gallery. After only a brief detour through a street market (I was distracted by the shiny things), I headed to the metro station. Thinking ahead, I purchased two tickets--one for the ride there, and one for the ride back--and jetted off to a new part of the city.

The East Side Gallery is the longest remaining section of the inner Berlin Wall, which has now been converted into a street art gallery. I spent almost two hours walking along the wall, studying the graffiti and murals, some of which have been there for almost three decades now, and many of which were painted by local art students. Here are a few of my favorites:

My plan then was to head back towards my hostel, and get off a stop early to walk by one of the other places suggested by the tour guide. So I walked toward the nearest metro station, and just barely managed to catch the next train going the direction that I needed.

If only I'd waited seven minutes for the next one.

In my rush to catch the train, I'd forgotten to validate my second metro ticket. I didn't realize this until a ticket inspector came around at the stop before the one I was getting off at.

With a sinking feeling in my stomach and tears welling up in my eyes, I produced my unvalidated ticket, and was asked to step off the train. On the platform, I pulled out the ticket that I had remembered to validate earlier that day, and, in a rush of tears, explained my mistake. The guy was extremely nice and very sympathetic, and probably would have let me off with a warning, had his supervisor not been standing right there. So, hiccuping through my tears, I coughed up the €60 fine.

After the ticket inspectors had departed on another train, I collapsed onto a bench to try to pull myself together. Out of the corner of my tear-filled eye, I saw an elderly couple approach. Apparently they'd witnessed the entire incident, and wanted to help me out. After one polite refusal, I gratefully accepted the €30 (and the tissue) that they offered.

I opted for the long way back to my hostel, on foot, through the Tiergarten. I needed it to calm down. I also needed a beer, so I ordered one with my kebap when I finally got to the block where my hostel was located.

Exhausted by the turn my day had taken, I went to bed pretty early that night. Which was also a good decision because I had an early train back to Bad Kreuznach the next day. It was time for a few days at my home away from home before my next adventure: Paris!

Copenhagen is Also Delicious

Now, I like to eat as much as the next person. But I'm no foodie; my palate is not too sophisticated for boxed mac and cheese. (And boy, do I miss that stuff.)

I had no idea that Noma, the best restaurant in the world, is located in Copenhagen--in fact, many of the best restaurants in the world are there. But Evan knew, because he is a self-proclaimed foodie. And when he asked, "Want to go to dinner with me at the best restaurant in the world?" the only possible answer was, "Um, duh."

Which is how we ended up in Copenhagen on the first weekend of November.

My bus arrived in Copenhagen an hour earlier than its scheduled 8:30pm--I'm still not sure how that happened--so I had to scramble, stiff from the 12.5 hours spent on the bus, to gather my things and get oriented. Once off the bus, I navigated through to the other side of the train station, where I caught a city bus to Evan's and my Airbnb. I had no clue how to pronounce the name of the stop I needed to get off at--the Danish language seems to primarily be comprised of ø's and å's and ů's and j's at the ends of words--so I pulled up the name of the stop on my phone and showed it to the friendly, English-speaking driver to make sure I was on the right bus. (Thankfully, I received an answer in the affirmative). I paid for my one-way ticket and received a handful of coins with holes in their middles as change.

Twenty minutes later, my navigation app informed me that I had arrived at my destination, and I climbed four flights of stairs to find that my foodie had made pita pizzas for dinner. Copenhagen was off to a yummy start.

The next morning, we did as native Copenhageners do and got on our bikes, off to Lagkagehuset for breakfast. Lagkagehuset is apparently THE Danish bakery, known throughout the land for its...well, Danishes.

Hopped up on sugar and caffeine, we continued on our way into the center of the city, with the intent of joining one of those free walking tours that Evan and I are such big fans of. We were distracted, however, by the swirly black-and-gold spire of Copenhagen's Church of Our Saviour. When we spotted people scaling the staircase up and around the tower, we knew we had to get up there. 

Ooooh...shiny!

So we parked our bikes, flashed our student IDs to the teenager at the entrance, and climbed the 400 steps to the top of the tower. 

Even though it was a misty day, we were had a pretty dang spectacular view of Copenhagen.

We then realized that we weren't going to make the 10:00am walking tour, so we revised our plan and decided to aim for the 1:30pm tour instead. In the meantime, we went to scope out Noma.

Despite Evan's efforts way back in July--which had involved waking up at some ungodly hour to get online the instant that November reservations for Noma opened--we hadn't been able to secure one of the coveted tables. So the closest we got was snooping around the outside. 

However, we (and by "we" I mean "Evan") had somehow managed to book a table for dinner on Sunday at 108, Noma's sister restaurant, which had opened only six months ago. So we also creeped on the people having lunch there. 

We ourselves found lunch at Copenhagen Street Food, an old warehouse around the corner from 108, where dozens of street vendors offer everything from duck-fat fries to sushi to Smørrebrød (Denmark's famous open-faced sandwiches). 

Holy Smørrebrød, Batman!

By the time we finished at Copenhagen Street Food, it was pouring rain. Not just drizzling; we're talking cats and dogs here. Nonetheless, Evan and I sloshed back to our bikes and gamely headed toward the center of town.

If you've never had the experience of city biking in the rain, don't. It is nothing but misery. In spite of our raincoats, we were drenched when we finally arrived in the center of the city, which dampened our enthusiasm (heehee) for the walking tour. So instead we whiled away the afternoon by ducking into various shops, including the Lego flagship store. Bet you didn't know Legos were Danish! (Don't feel bad...neither did I.) 

Lego biking is more fun than regular biking.

LEGO SAAAAANTA! OH MY GOSH! I KNOW HIM!

We took a long afternoon coffee (and cake) break to dry off and warm up, and by the time we got out of the coffee shop at 4:00pm, it was nighttime. Literally nighttime. That northern latitude really makes a difference in how much daylight a place gets. It really messed with my internal clock, and by 5:00pm, I was about ready for bed.

But we still had to eat dinner, so we headed to another indoor food market. This one was more grocery-store than Copenhagen Street Food (there were butchers and fish vendors and whatnot everywhere), but there were also a few places where you could grab a bite. After a few laps around the place, Evan and I settled on sharing fish and chips and a fish taco, which was more like a fish burrito (but still pretty darn tasty).

Fish are friends, not f--oops. 

The market was closing up as we left, so we stopped at a bakery stand for some macarons to take on the road. (It really is an addiction.)

Sunday dawned just as cold and windy as the day before, but at least the rain wasn't as heavy, so Evan and I finally showed up for a walking tour. Our tour guide was a good-natured Australian, who made jokes about every nationality in our tour group, plus the Swedes (the archenemies of Denmark) and Kiwis (apparently New Zealand and Australia don't get along very well). He was also very informative:
--You know that device that you stick in your ear for hands-free calling? Well, the name "Bluetooth" comes from Danish King Harald Blåtand (Harald Bluetooth), who played a major role in uniting warring factions during the 10th century in parts of what are now Sweden, Norway, and Denmark.
--Carlsberg beer is Danish, and every year, the Carlsberg award goes to a Dane who makes a major contribution to society.
--Niels Bohr won the Carlsberg medal for his contributions to science (the structure of an atom, anyone?). Part of his prize included a house with a pipeline from the Carlsberg brewery, so he had free beer for life.
--Niels Bohr also saved a huge number of Danish Jews during the Holocaust. His mother was Jewish, and when he was evacuated to Sweden, with the intent of being transported to the US to work on the Manhattan Project, he refused to go until the king of Sweden publicly promised to evacuate all Danish Jews and to offer them refuge in Sweden until it was safe for them to return to Denmark. This promise was upheld, and over 7,220 of Denmark's 7,800 Jews, plus 686 of their non-Jewish familý members were saved.

The tour ended near Frederik's Church, which has the largest dome in Scandinavia. Evan and I poked around the church for a few minutes (not going to lie, it was mostly because we needed to warm up, but also it was a very pretty church). We then made a beeline for the cheesecake place recommended by our tour guide.

Say "cheese!" (cake)

We had a few hours to kill before our 8:30pm dinner reservation at 108, so we wandered for a bit more before finding ourselves back at Copenhagen Street Food.

We whiled away the time by sharing a couple of beers, as well as an order of duck-fat fries and a croque monsieur. (Yes, we had a pre-dinner snack. This girl gets hangry way too easily.) We then classily ducked into the bathrooms to change into our dinner clothes. Now somewhat presentable, we walked over to 108.

I'm sure I didn't fully appreciate the culinary skill involved in such a dinner, but everything was pretty dang delectable in my opinion. And I definitely enjoyed watching Evan swoon over every bite.

Here's what we ate:

Slices of pumpkin with fresh goat’s milk cheese and blackcurrant leaves

Grilled courgette with gammel knas and blackcurrant leaves

Braised oxtail with black autumn truffles

A caramelized milkskin with grilled pork belly and cress

Grilled monkfish with cabbage cooked in chamomile, summer greens and a sauce of mussels

A sourdough cone filled with blueberry ice cream and mint

Speechless? Me too. (Even more so after I saw the bill.)

The next day, Evan had to head back to Rennes for class. So we checked out of the Airbnb, and he headed to the airport while I found the hostel I'd be staying in for my last night in Copenhagen.

I checked in and shoved my bags into my locker, then turned right back around and headed out to take advantage of the all-too-limited daylight hours. I was off to find the Little Mermaid.

Maybe you knew this, but Hans Christian Andersen, fairytale author extraordinaire, was a Copenhagener--probably one of the most famous ones. He wrote classics such as "The Princess and the Pea," "The Emperor's New Clothes," "Thumbelina," and, of course, "The Little Mermaid." In honor of what is probably Hans Christian Andersen's most famous story, there is a statue in one of the Northernmost harbors in Copenhagen of the Little Mermaid herself.

It was quite a hike (it took most of the afternoon), but it was through a nice part of town, and it was finally a sunny day, so I enjoyed it. I also enjoyed the Copenhagen-style hot dog that I snagged from a street vendor on my way back to my hostel.

By the time my weary feet crossed the threshold of the hostel, it was dark outside, and I was once again ravenous (in spite of the pit stop I'd made at Lagkagehuset). So I asked the girl at reception where the closest place for good, cheap food was, and got directions to a kebap place right around the corner. Between the falafel and the fries, I was happy, and I went to bed early in preparation for my bus to Berlin the next day. 

And of course, I had to stop at Lagkagehuset one more time on my way out of town.

Dam! This City is Cool

I bet you can guess what our first breath of Amsterdam air smelled like.

That's right: the sweet, sweet smell of freedom.

Our heads perhaps slightly muddled by a second-hand high, Evan and I managed to navigate the metro to Amsterdam Centraal, where we caught a ferry across the harbor to our hostel, which turned out to be the best hostel that I've stayed in yet in my travels. It was a big hostel, with great facilities (including a kitchen, bar, and outlets/lights at each comfortable bed), a good location (close to the city, but quiet at night), and fantastic staff (super friendly, and extremely helpful in the event of a mishap...yup, learned that one first-hand).

We checked in, put down our backpacks, and said a brief hello to our Canadian roommates before Evan and I had to dash to catch a ferry back across the harbor. Why the hurry? Well, it turns out that, in high school, Evan had a couple of Dutch friends, and since they were now all in the same country again, we were meeting them for dinner.

With a little help from Google Maps, we found our way to the restaurant, which wasn't too far off the main shopping street (already decked out with Christmas lights), and met Evan's friends: two sisters, one of whom lives in Amsterdam. We had a round of Belgian beers while the old friends caught up. When the waitress came back to ask, for the third time, if we were ready to order, the other three ordered various schnitzels. Thanks to the substantial amount of time I'd spent in Germany and Austria the previous month, I'd had my fill of schnitzel for a while, so I ordered my first steak in three years.

After dinner, the sisters showed us a little bit of the city, and introduced us to stroopwafels, those marvelous Dutch sweets. Holy cannoli, those things are addictive. I easily ate a dozen a day during my time in the Netherlands. Crispy waffles, filled with gooey caramel goodness...just thinking about them right now makes me want to catch a train back to Amsterdam instead of heading to Berlin today.

Anyway.

After a few more Belgian beers at a canalside table, Evan and I said good night and found our way back to the hostel.

Even Amsterdam knows that Bruges' beer is better.

The next day, we consulted TripAdvisor to help us find a good breakfast place. We had just about settled on an omelette place with a 4-star rating, and would have headed there for breakfast, had the next name on the list been anything other than "Bagels & Beans." As soon as we read the word "bagels," Evan and I knew that was where we were going. Bagels are one of the foods that both of us have missed the most since leaving the US.

Don't get me wrong, Europe does a lot of foods better than the US does, especially baked goods. But one thing that has been conspicuously absent from European bakeries is bagels. And if you know me, you know that there was a time--not so long ago--when I ate bagels for two meals out of every day.

To make a long soliloquy short, we went to Bagels & Beans, which had not only some pretty solid bagels, but also a spectacular view of the harbor. They also had ginormous coffees, including a mochaccino served in a cup as big as my head.

A restaurant after my own heart.

After breakfast, we poked around the main shopping street, where we discovered a deceptively narrow entrance to a large and ornately decorated church. We came to the conclusion that the church was strategically placed so that shoppers can come and pray to win the lottery, that way they can actually afford to shop on that street.

We then stumbled upon the famous flower market along one of the canals. This market boasts a mind-boggling array of Dutch tulip bulbs (I had no idea there were so many varieties!). Of course, not much was in bloom, given the time of year, but Evan managed to buy me a tulip anyway.

We cute.

Then it was time for our walking tour! In an effort to prevent hangriness from striking mid-tour, we grabbed a couple of hot ham-and-cheese baguettes on our way to the meeting point.

On the tour, we learned that the elevation of Amsterdam is about 3 meters below sea-level. The only reason that the city even exists is that those crazy Dutch literally built the land, using sea walls to hold back the water, before they put the buildings on it. (That's how the city got its name: from the dam that blocked the Amstel river.) We also learned that, even though Dutch tulips are world-famous, tulips were not native to the Netherlands; tulips originally came from Turkey.

And, of course, the tour guide showed us Amsterdam's famous red-light district, centered around the oldest church in the city. You may find this ironic--I definitely did--but, apparently, way back when Amsterdam first started out as a trading port, the church and the "ladies of the night" had quite the symbiotic relationship:

--The ladies used the church bells to time their "work shifts." The bells sounded every fifteen minutes, which made it very easy for the women to keep track of the time that their customers had paid for.

--At that time, the Catholic practice of "indulgences" was in full effect; sinners could make a donation to the church in exchange for forgiveness of their sins. At the conclusion of every "business transaction," the ladies would send their customers to the church to be forgiven for their sins. The church, in turn, would give a cut of their profits to the women.

The tour was very educational! 

After the tour, we went to a grocery store for dinner ingredients and to replenish our supply of stroopwafels. We also popped into a souvenir shop. I've been collecting postcards from every city that I visit (they're cheap souvenirs, very lightweight and packable, unlike the Oktoberfest stein that was my Munich souvenir). Evan, meanwhile, has made stickers his signature souvenir (also lightweight and packable, though occasionally more difficult to find). 

Souvenir shopping done, we went back to the hostel, where we took over one of the four kitchens to make pasta. (Yay for saving money!)

The next morning, Evan caught an early flight back to Rennes for class. I caught a couple more hours of sleep, then headed off to the Van Gogh Museum, one of the things that I had been most excited to get to Amsterdam to see.

What an AMAZING museum.

Obviously, there were paintings by Van Gogh everywhere, but there were also letters (both written by him and written to him), paintings by many of his artist friends and influences, and paintings by those influenced by him. There were also some of his original sketchbooks and painting equipment.

All of this was organized in such a way that really led me through Van Gogh's life and career as an artist, and I left the museum not only having seen many of my favorite paintings in person, but also with a better understanding of my favorite artist.

If you get the chance, I HIGHLY recommend visiting the Van Gogh Museum for yourself. 

Couldn't take any pictures inside, so here's one of the outside!

It was well past lunchtime by the time I left the museum, so I made my way back to Bagels & Beans for an XL-cappuccino and a bagel sandwich (I had to get my fix while I could). 

I wandered back along the main shopping street, which was a mistake: I fell in love with a coat that would have been beyond my price range even if I had an income right now. While searching for a knock-off version that I could actually afford, I discovered that late-90s/early-2000s fashions are alive and well, at least in Amsterdam: almost every store I went into had denim skirts.

The next day found me in Giethoorn, a teeny (we're talking one-grocery-store teeny) little canal town about three hours by train from Amsterdam. (Okay, fine, it's two hours if you actually pay attention and don't miss the stop where you were supposed to change trains.)

Since it's no longer the big tourism season, it was pretty quiet in Giethoorn. Nonetheless, I managed to keep busy by wandering around town, crossing dozens of bridges over the network of canals that serve as roads, and endlessly snapping pictures of the unbelievably-cute, thatched-roof houses.

This is my "I can't believe this place exists" face.

Later in the afternoon, I rented a kayak and took myself on a tour around the parts of town only accessible by watercraft. I also paddled to the lake, which, aside from the ducks who--based on their panicked quacks--were as afraid I'd capsize as I was, was incredibly still and peaceful.

For my last day in the Netherlands, I had a ticket to the Anne Frank House. Evan and I had planned to go together on Monday, but when we went online to get tickets ahead of time (rather than stand in line for 3+ hours), they were completely sold out, not only for Monday, but for every day for the next few weeks! Apparently tickets are booked typically a month in advance...whoops. Luckily for me, on Monday night, someone cancelled their tickets for Friday morning, so I was able to snag one.

I'd been to the Anne Frank House once before, when my family visited Europe eight years ago. But that was before I had read the diary of Anne Frank. This time, walking through the rooms in which the Frank family, with four other people, had hidden for two years during World War II, held much more meaning. It's really something that everyone should visit in person.

After my morning in the museum, I was feeling pretty subdued, so I just wandered around Amsterdam for a while. I briefly stopped into a different Bagels & Beans for lunch, and when it started to rain an hour later, I ducked into a bookstore for cover.

Fortuitously, it turned out to be the American Book Center in Amsterdam; four wondeful floors of books and magazines that I could actually read! It was perfect, because I'd run short of new reading material--carrying around a bunch of books isn't exactly conducive to packing light--so I whiled away a couple of hours browsing, eventually becoming engrossed in Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Johnathan Safran Foer. Have any of you ever read that? I bought the paperback, making use of the student discount that the shop offered, and I'm in the middle of it now...it's a great read so far.

Anyway, I guess my mind was still in my book when I got back to the hostel, because I somehow managed to lock my keys in my locker. 

Yup. I guess it was about time for another mishap. 

The girl from reception and I both tried our hand with the bolt-cutters, to no avail. A little while later, the good-natured bar manager--who was a rather brawny fellow--arrived, complimented the sturdiness of my padlock, then proceeded to bust it open in a matter of seconds. 

Bless.

The rest of the evening was spent packing up my newly-liberated backpack, ready for an early departure the next morning. I was Copenhagen-bound!

Belgium is Delicious

Like, the most delicious country yet.

When Evan and I arrived in Brussels on Thursday, we weren't feeling too optimistic. Our bus had been delayed leaving in the morning, and the ride had been long, so we were--I was--a little bit grumpy. Our Airbnb was in a somewhat sketchy part of town, and farther from everything than we had thought, so we had to figure out public transportation, which was more expensive than anticipated, and, by the time we got there an hour later, we had yet to see any historic-looking buildings.

Things started to turn around once we actually got in to the studio we were staying in for the next few nights. It was teeny-tiny, but cozy, with private kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. Plus--unexpected bonus--a balcony!

Itsy-bitsy Airbnb.

We spent about an hour there unwinding from the day of travel and checking out every inch of our dinky new digs, then hopped on the metro towards the old town square.

Once we got into the older part of town, I felt a lot better about the decision to come to Brussels. There were three main reasons for this change of heart:

Reason #1: fish and Belgian chips (otherwise known as French fries)

Reason #2: Belgian beer

Reason #3: Belgian waffles

Other reasons came later in the evening when, after wandering the old town for a while, we went into Leonidas, the Belgian chocolate shop that my aunt had insisted we needed to visit. I exercised an extraordinary amount of self-control and limited myself to four dark chocolates in various flavors, and two macarons (caramel and litchee).

Those didn't last long enough for me to take a picture.

We hit a grocery store for breakfast supplies on the way back to our Airbnb, planning to make good use of our pint-sized kitchen while we had it.

After a yummy homemade breakfast the next morning (a combined effort of Evan's culinary skills and my talent for supervising), we were ready to tackle a walking tour of the city.

Our tour guide was brand-spanking-new (it was her first tour!), and she had lots of good recommendations for places to get food and beer, and, more importantly, chocolate and coffee.

Oh, and she also told us some cool facts about the history of Brussels and showed us the two famous fountains.  

Manneken Pis (all dressed up for Halloween?)

And his little sister!

And their dog (who isn't a fountain, just a statue).

After the tour, Evan and I made it our personal mission to visit all of the chocolate shops the tour guide had recommended, plus the coffee shop and the biscuit store she'd showed us.

Hello, Gorgeous.

A café eclaír from our new 2nd-favorite chocolate shop.

Mary Chocolatiers is the BEST, but I forgot to get a picture there.

This biscuit shop is actually older than the country of Belgium. Belgium was founded in 1830, and Maison Dandoy was established in 1829. 

Since we'd splurged on junk food, we decided that cooking dinner in our Airbnb was a fiscally responsible move. So we went to a grocery store, where we picked up a six-pack of Duvel (a Belgian beer), and some sprouts (they don't call them "Brussels sprouts" here).

For the next day, we'd planned a day trip to Bruges and Ghent. After an AMAZING walking tour in Bruges, though, we decided to pass on Ghent in favor of spending more time in Bruges.

Bruges was everything I'd hoped Brussels would be, just smaller. Old, picturesque buildings, cool shops and restaurants, with lots and lots of stories everywhere.

Our tour guide was fantastic, weaving tales from centuries before with more modern history. His enthusiasm as infectious, and I can honestly say that the "Legends of Bruges" tour has been, far and away, my favorite walking tour so far.

Some of my favorite tales from the tour included:
--Lace was invented in Bruges, by a lady who apparently got the idea in a dream, in which the Virgin Mary wove a spiderweb and placed it on her lap.
--The people of Bruges are sometimes called "the Irish of Belgium," because of their tendency to throw raucous parties, during which they drink with reckless abandon.
--The longest beer pipeline in the world is in Bruges, connecting De Halve Maan brewery with its bottling plant 3 kilometers away. Locals are waiting for the day that the pipeline bursts, pint glasses at the ready.
--The cathedral in Bruges used to have a golden dragon atop it, until one day, during a particularly wild party, the people of Ghent--jealous of Bruges's status as the favorite city of Maximilian II--swiped it. The golden dragon sits atop the cathedral in Ghent to this day.

After the tour, we went to a kitschy little café called I Love Coffee, where we grabbed a snack (and some coffee, of course). Rejuvenated, we wandered the streets of Bruges, in search of souvenirs and yummy food.

Did someone say waffles?

It was a little too cold for it, but we sat outside for dinner anyway. The local beer didn't do much to warm us up, but a huge pot of mussels did!

We caught a train back to Brussels not long after dinner, and I fell asleep on the ride, which gave me just enough energy to walk into our Airbnb and fall into bed. Evan and I spent our last morning in Belgium--where else?--at Leonidas, where we picked out enough dark chocolates to last us the bus ride to Amsterdam. And then some.

God, Belgian chocolate is good.