My dogs are barking, as are Liz's. We've grown used to walking on compacted earth, which is a little easier on one's feet than cobbles and cement. As a result, we're out and about more frequently, but for shorter durations. I know we'll adjust.
If we can transition from Asia to Europe, I'm sure our feet will come along easily.
It's odd to realize that we were in Hong Kong a week ago. First jet aircraft, then the Internet -- could the world get any smaller? I can step outside our hotel door and hear several languages flow past in the river of people that runs up and down both sides of Damrak Street.
Also notable: this is the first stop where Liz and I aren't experiencing a place as foreign, but familiar. She was here in her traveling years; I passed through in my twenties. We have separate memories and associations with different streets and canals. But we also meander through crowds, feet aching in unison as we hold hands and keep an eye out for cyclists in the bike lanes. I know it's corny, but this is a romantic place.
I'd almost forgotten how much I missed holding her hand. Most places in Asia we visited, only men are permitted to make public shows of affection. I lost track of the number of boys and adult males I saw walking about with their arms draped over a pal's shoulder, sometimes holding hands, or sleeping on each other during train rides. Liz and I received more than enough attention just walking down the street in Asia, so we took PDAs off the menu pretty quickly.
Here in Amsterdam, sharing a quick kiss before parting ways is entirely unremarkable. And delightful.
The sky doesn't truly dim until well after 2100, so it's a pleasure to stroll in the evenings, even if we did get lost several times during our first two days. Now, each point of past confusion and befuddlement has transformed into a landmark, making things much easier. Despite my growing familiarity with the Centrum street plan, she talked me into spending good Euros on a massive local map.
Five minutes later, she was smoothing it out against a closed store window with both palms, her arms spread wide. When the map caught a breeze and the bottom started flapping, I tried not to laugh out loud. Really, I tried. (I won't waste valuable bandwidth praising my innate sense of direction, wouldn't be seemly.)
Last night, she'd discovered that Fishbone was playing at The Paradiso, a short tram ride away. We set out to see if we could catch them, and walked down to Spuistraat to find the Number 2 or 5 train. We attempted to pay the gentleman behind the partition, but he first asked where we were going.
"It's only two stops. Don't worry about it." And then a dismissive wave, so he could get to the person behind us: a tall North African woman who was boarding with six children of similar age but different races, none of whom were holding still.
After two months of feeling very much on display, it's nice to blend in. Nicer still to walk down sunny streets keeping the breezes at bay with the colorful kramaa I bought in Cambodia, hand in hand with a beautiful woman.
Posted by Walter at August 5, 2005 01:04 PM