Egypt here I come... hold on tight

After 4 email conversations, I had confirmed with the hotel that a driver would pick me up from the airport and take me via car to the hotel. Maybe my expectations were too high but I figured it would at least be a nice car.

I walked out of the baggage claim area to a deluge of signs searching for my name. Soon I saw a piece of paper that said “Mr. & Mrs. Donaldson” close enough. I greeted the driver with a smile hello. He asked where the other person was (presumably Mr. Donaldson) I politely explained that it was just me, just one person. He looked utterly confused and said the reservation was for 2 people. Ah, no – just one and I can show the email to prove it. Ok, ok we go.

On the way to car, still confused I’m sure, he asked, “Where is your husband?” I thought to myself… rice and beans – you don’t even know me and you are asking where my husband is! But responded with “well he couldn’t make it this time” yep, couldn’t make it because he doesn’t exist! But realizing that this is a pre-dominantly Muslim country and a solo woman traveler is a rarity at best, I figured playing along would be the best option so for the next 5 days, Mr. Donaldson was unable to accompany me on vacation because he had work.

We approached a vehicle that resemble Flash plus a few years and I thought to myself – no… no this is not the car that I am going to ride into the dessert in with a strange man who is convinced I am not who I say I am. But alas it was. So we pile my stuff in the trunk and head off into the night. I loved Flash, really I did. I enjoyed driving him even on the highway but I do realize that other people didn’t really share my sediments and now I know why. I thought I was going to die when the driver entered the road at some speed I can’t even begin to comprehend. I have never been on the autobahn but I would imagine it is something like what I experienced my first night in Egypt – cars going at ungodly fast speeds, passing each other with no regard for lanes or signals. But I’m pretty sure there is one major difference with the autobahn and the roads in Egypt – the cars! The cars in Germany are meant to go that fast and you feel somewhat safe doing so, in Egypt not so much. I continued in this state of panic for the next 30 minutes – seriously couldn’t breath and my hands were turning white because I was gripping the “oh my god” handle so tightly. At one point we were speeding along and the driver pointed out that the water was straight ahead. And we were heading straight for the water with NO signs of stopping!! I quickly responded with, “Great, see the water. Do NOT want to go IN the water!”

After 3 security check points, we pulled up to the Sheraton Soma Bay in all it’s glory. It was like beacons of light in the midst of a dark sky… oh wait… it was beacons of light amidst a dark sky. There is seriously nothing else around this resort and you can see for miles. Paradise found!

Amsterdam Facts & Figures

As progressive as this city is, women giving birth are not administered an epidural unless it is deemed medically necessary. Are you freaking kidding me?? No, I have not had children (nor do I plan on it anytime soon) however from what I understand this epidural makes things a WHOLE lot easier.

The metro can shut down at anytime for no real reason; 2 of the 4 metro lines were closed for the majority of the summer… not really sure why. Now I’m sure there is a sign somewhere that explains why these 2 metro lines are shut down but I am also sure the sign in Dutch and says something to the affect of “the metro is closed due to the lighter than average travel expected during the summer months since most people will be going on 4-plus week holidays. Sorry for an inconvenience.”

10 (times 2) – number of hot guys I pass on any given day; this city is great!
9 – number of times I took the kick boxing class (and got my a** kicked!)
8 – number of coffee shops I pass on the way to the train station
7 – number of visitors I had the pleasure of having while in Amsterdam
6 – number of coffee shops I pass on the way to the train station, if alternate route is taken
5 – number of red light windows I pass on the way from the train station, if alternate route is taken Note: this route is not usually taken but is a viable option
4 – injuries sustained as result of accidents (1 kankle, 2 bruised legs, 1 tender ear – don’t ask)
3 – number of places I called “home” in Amsterdam (first apartment, Pulitzer Hotel – during water leak of first apartment, and KSA corporate apartment)
2 – number of bike accidents I have had involving other people (one with Ingmar and one with Ellen)
1 – number of times I got on the wrong train to go to work; what can I say, it happens to the best of us
0 – number of shops where coffee is sold before 9am hence the need for me to purchase a “to-go” mug so I could be somewhat pleasant on my way to work

The hash laws – as explained by Vincent in Pulp Fiction: It breaks down like this: it's legal to buy it, it's legal to own it, and, if you're the proprietor of a hash bar, it's legal to sell it. It's legal to carry it, but that doesn't really matter 'cause - get a load of this - if you get stopped by the cops in Amsterdam, it's illegal for them to search you. I mean, that's a right the cops in Amsterdam don't have. – Enough said!

You can board a train without a ticket; however IF the “train police” come by you are required to purchase a ticket plus pay a fine of 35 euros. On my way to Rotterdam, I “forgot” to buy a ticket. Actually I tried by the machine would not take my credit card, a Dutch PIN card is needed, nor would the machine take cash so I decided to take my chances and got the train sans ticket. When the ticket police came around, I told him I didn’t have a ticket and would like to purchase one and pay the fine. I figured the ticket was about 5 euros so in total I would owe 40 euros. He said that was not possible. WHAT? WHY? He proceeded to explain that he didn’t have any change so I was not able to buy a ticket from him. HUH? Here I am offering to pay the fine plus the cost of the ticket, whatever that may be, and this guy says no. After several minutes of debate back and forth of my options (which included getting off the train at the next and waiting at least 30 minutes for the next train) he conceded and let me stay on the train without paying the ticket or the fine. Whatever

And last but certainly not least
You can buy just about anything here…

I have a pretty big sweet tooth but this was just a little too much for me to handle.

Recording breaking weekend

During my wonderful weekend in Berlin I managed to break a few personal records:

Record – not falling for 4 straight weeks, if you exclude the bike debacle Ellen & I had it has been almost 8 weeks with no falls. However, on Sunday as I was walking down the steps of the subway station in Berlin my foot slipped and down I went – gracefully of course! I slid down about 8 steps and finally stopped with my right leg curled up under my bum and bags scattered about. A woman (with a very smelly, gross looking dog) tried to help me up but the sight/smell of the dog made me gag so I had to push her away. A bit bruised on the wrists and ankle, but thankfully no kankle was developing, I gathered up my things and went on my way. Note: pride was not bruised, being in a foreign country where no one knows you really helps!

Record – not having to catch a Monday morning flight for 18 weeks (that’s more than 4 months!!). But alas this record came to a screeching halt as my Sunday evening flight was cancelled due to a crew shortage. I was re-booked on the first flight out Monday morning which left at the un-godly time of 6:40am. This meant I had to be at the airport by 5:45am. Since I was staying at solid 30 minutes from the airport I had the privilege of having my wake up call at 4:30am. Seriously that is just WAY TOO EARLY!

Record – not having a connecting flight for 9 weeks. Yep, this one goes hand in hand with the one above. That glorious 6:40am flight went to Frankfurt NOT Amsterdam which meant I had to connect in Frankfurt. After being shaken awake by the flight attendant as we were landing, I was still a bit out of it when I entered the terminal. I did notice I was at gate A2 and managed to read the board to discover my next flight was departing out of A42. Now for those of you who have not had the pleasure of connecting in Frankfurt’s airport let me explain to you how it is set up… it is one LONG terminal in where there are no trams, limited people movers for only short distances at a time, and very scarce luggage carts (due primarily because it is holiday season in Europe I presume). In desperate need of coffee and a second breakfast, I stopped for nourishment about halfway through my journey to the gate. I also manage to snag a luggage cart which meant I was now pushing rather than pulling my crap, I mean luggage.

Lookout Martha... here comes Julie!

The 4th of July is a special holiday for my family so spending it in another country is a bit difficult. In an effort to discourage my feelings of abandonment, I decided to host a 4th of July bbq for our team to celebrate! I bought a grill, decorations, downloaded an "American" ipod mix, and even attempted to plan a menu for the big event. Shopping started the Saturday before the big day and involved several trips to the market and other assorted stores to pick up the necessary components of the celebration. You have NO idea how heavy a watermelon is until you have to carry it 4 blocks! I figured that I could handle making most of the side dishes for this meal as long as someone else manned the grill. Even though Ingmar volunteered, his late arrival, allowed Patrick to step and help out. Belss his heart, Patrick grilled not only hamburgers but also corn for all of us! Mind you, my "patio" is only about 2 feet wide and the grill could only handle about 3 pieces of meat at a time so this was quiet the production.

The meal turned out pretty good but the best part was dessert - a flag cake!

It turns out I CAN cook (and bake too!)... but don't be getting your hopes up for a dinner party anytime soon... just because I CAN doesn't mean I WILL :)

Bitten!

No, I’m not talking about SJP’s new clothing line (although from what I’ve seen it looks so cute). I’m referring to the mosquitoes in Amsterdam. These bugs are vicious and evidently not only are they really attracting to me but also I have a more severe reaction to their little love taps than most.

For my first 2 months here I really didn’t notice the bugs at all. I spent several nights with my windows (sans screens) wide open enjoying the night breeze off the canal. But come July, these suckers were out for blood.

I have been gang rapped by mosquitoes! Seriously I have awoke to more red bites on my arms, legs, and face - yep face - than I would have even imagined. At one point I think there was a family of mosquitoes that was making a nice home in my pillow. I tried to take a picture of some of these bites but magically they don't appear with the camera - ugh! Desperate to rule out the possibility that it could be something worse than mosquito bites I spent countless hours research insects and insect bites which only made me itch more!

Thinking I could escape these little guys for a weekend, I headed to Berlin. But oh no! They still attacked me – even through jeans and a sweater. I woke up to red bumps the size of quarters that were itching like crazy. I walked into a pharmacy and showed them my arms. Without having to say a word, they led me straight to the insect repellent section of the store. I stocked up on something that would suppress the itching and a spray that would deter from future bites. While I wasn’t snapping pictures or downing beers I was religiously applying my new products.

You might be a redneck if...

• you steal glasses from the bar because you think they are cool glasses
• you haven't seen enough of the red light district but your wife and sister in-law have
• you wash your wine down with beer
• you tip more than 15% because you want the Dutch to like you (even though tipping 10% is more than enough)
• you find yourself defending George W.
• you prefer to shop at Albert Hein rather than the 9 streets
• you response with "shake and bake" when someone asks if you are ready to leave
• you organize your own bike pub crawl
• you are consistently asking the server for another beer, "Can I get another beer?"
• you put ice in your beer and remove the foam with your hand
• you say to the sommelier"thanks for hooking us up"

The Rednecks are coming!

I awoke one morning to a voicemail message that went something like this...
"We booked our tickets!! We're coming for a whole week in early July! I can't wait, it's going to be so fun... of course we'll have to figure out the details but get ready because THE REDNECK ARE COMING TO AMSTERDAM!"

It was Ellen letting me know that she and Matt would be coming to visit. Needless to say I was ecstatic - this city was a perfect introduction to Europe for both her and Matt. And I knew I could entertain them for a week here. Let the countdown begin and Amsterdam beware - the redneck are coming...

Papa don't preach

In my weekly phone call home, my dad mentioned he might come over for a visit while I was in Amsterdam – great. A “visit” for my dad usually means 1-3 hours so I figured at most he would stay for 2 days – oh no he decided to spend 5 days in Amsterdam. What in the world was I going to do with my father for FIVE days???

For starters, the man works 24/7 which meant coming to Amsterdam was going to be a change of pace…more like trying to stop an Indy car while going top speed. He claimed he was going to “relax” during his visit. Now I found this hard to believe but as someone pretty smart once told me “people will surprise you.” Shocked is more appropriate.

I met Dad at the airport on Father’s Day – a holiday not wildly celebrated hence the need to make my own “Happy Father’s Day” sign. The layover was a quick “visit.” I handed him a map, pointed out where I lived, where the train station was, where the bar was, etc. Then I handed over keys to my apartment and was on my way to work out (ugh!). The day he was due to arrive I received an email from his secretary (aka my mom) saying he would delayed one day – joy down to four days.

I walked home from work the day I knew Dad was there to find he had already made friends (he and Johnnie always seem to get along) during happy hour. His schedule for the next few days went a little something like this:

7am-9am: wake up, have breakfast but DO NOT talk to Julie (as she is not a morning person), and do a bit of work
9am-11am: walk to boat tour, take boat tour (yes, he did this all 4 days, same boat tour)
11am-1pm: find something to eat, usually involved seeking out a cookie or 2
1pm-3pm: nap time
3pm-7pm: happy hour with friend (Johnnie) and light snacks
7pm – dinner with Julie

Some days nap time took a little bit longer and happy hour started later but he was ok with that.

On Friday, Dad was willing to shake the schedule up a bit and head to the Heineken Experience, not the brewery but the experience, for happy hour. During the tour we got to “experience” what it is like to be a bottle of Heineken beer and what it is like to drive a cart of horses through Amsterdam. Of course you also have the opportunity to enjoy a few Heinekens as well as snap a few photos. Back on schedule, we headed to dinner after the brewery.

While at dinner the rain poured in and we opted out of watching fellow co-workers run. Easily convinced or 3 sheets to the wind, Ingmar talked us into meeting the team at the finish. So we did what anyone would do… downed 2 Irish coffees, sent a few text messages, and hailed a cab. One of the great things about Amsterdam is the lack of the open container law which in this case meant roadies!

Standing at the finish line (beer in one hand, umbrella in the other) we cheered Ingmar, Patrick, and Suzuko to the finish. After the race, we all headed to the bar… Dad and I might not have run the 10k race but we were certainly running, or rather drinking in another kind of race! Therefore, I don’t remember much but I do remember leaving the bar and Dad specifically asking me “do you know where we are?” I replied “Of course, I do… now if I could just read that street sign we will be ok.”

American Football?

During Svea's visit to Amsterdam, we had a team event to the Amsterdam Admiral's American Football game who play in the NFL Europe league. I can honestly say that I don't know many girls (with the expection of Marsha) who could explain any sport, let alone football, to a male. Not that we couldn't do it, it's just that they usually know much more about sports than we do so we don't bother. So you can imagine my surprise when Svea and I found ourselves explaining the basics of American Football to Joost and Patrick. Here are just a few of there questions...

• Why are there so many people on the field?
• Do you watch football just to see the guys in tight pants?

After a few plays, Patrick didn’t get what the big deal was about football, he thought it was boring then Svea explained tailgating.

A few notes about our experience...

• You can bring beer in, but they ran out
• Only bathrooms are port-a-johns and peeing stalls
• They sing the American national anthem (and everyone signs along!)
• There is a dance party after every plan
• The hot dogs are served in hamburger buns
• The yard lines are barely visible
• Rumor has it, it’s harder to make the dance team than the football team
• Shrek makes an appearance - but only if you're lucky!

Paris in the spring time

The purpose of my weekend trip to Paris was to shop and I can honestly say mission accomplished! Getting to and from was a bit of a different story. I grew up in the mid-west – the heartland of America – and therefore a child of public school not public transportation. One of my guide books had said there was a 4 hour train to Paris – to me this meant an easy travel day with no security and no limit to your carry on luggage – perfect! Yeah, not so much.

The ride started out just fine. In fact, the train ride itself wasn’t that bad. It was however a bit boring since there was no in-route entertainment (guess you are suppose to entertain yourself). But alas, the time pasted and finally I arrived in Paris!

Now I was able to master the subway system in Tokyo but unlike the rest of that city, the subway is laid out well and pretty easy to follow. So naturally I thought I would be able to handle the Paris subway. And since I wanted to make some major purchases over the next few days this meant making a few sacrifices (i.e. the luxury of a cab from the train station to my hotel). Given that I had nothing else to do on the 4 hour train ride, I had carefully plotted the location of my hotel, the subway line, and how to reach the aforementioned from Paris Nord (aka the main train station). On paper it seemed easy enough, 1 transfer and I was there. However this ONE transfer managed to be the longest ever connection – 700 meters to be exact. That’s 7 football fields for those of you not familiar with the metric system and that’s pretty far when you are carrying your bags, wearing heels, and sweating like an American without air conditioning. Flashbacks of Tokyo filled my head and I began to regret my decision to come to Paris. As I staggered the last 10 meters to the train, I noticed a man staring at me; not thinking much of it – I boarded the next train and continued on my journey. Aboard the train, I was entertained by a local rap group and children running back and forth throughout the car; annoying as it was it did remind me I was definitely not in Tokyo. When the train arrived at my stop, I exited the entertainment car and continued to trek to the hotel. Admittedly, I was a bit disoriented and confused as to which exit to take. The man that had been starring at me before “just happened” to exit as well and he was oh so eager to help me. “Can I help you miss?” “Are you married miss?” “Tell me your name miss.” “Maybe you and I can (insert hand gesture that I don’t know what it meant but I’m sure it was not nice)” At first I tried to politely dismiss his help but his interrogation continued and when he took my map from my hands I lost it. I looked him straight in the eye and said, “I am perfectly FINE and I DO NOT need your help, now good-bye.” Whew… now where in the hell am I!

After a good night’s rest and a solid breakfast (where I reviewed my itinerary for the day) I headed out to SHOP! I started at Le Bon Marche. Heaven has a place here in Europe as well as a name – Le Bon Marche a fantastic department store in Montemarte that managed to hold my attention for 2 hours and capture the first three purchases of the day. After Le Bon Marche I took to the streets. I had a Marilyn moment while crossing the street – apparently those grates on the street really do have air blowing up! Thank goodness I opted for non-thongs! One hour later I was starring at a subway map in disbelief. I had successfully managed to completely turn myself around. Sucking up defeat and not being able to hail a cab, I walked to the subway. Upon exiting I saw the Seine River and Eiffel Tower – this was the Paris I remember.

In fact I was so entranced by the view I again went the wrong direction! Thankfully the Parisians were beginning to warm up – a local artist helped me sort out my directions. The second planned destination was so close I could feel it – Christian Loubitian here I come. I am not really sure what I was expecting of this red soled boutique but was quiet surprised to find the store was rather understated but relieved to see it came with signature red carpet. The disappointment however continued when each style I pointed to the salesman said – no not in your size. When I finally received a “yes” it was really a no due to too much toe cleavage. I marched onto Rue Saint Honore. My next stop proved to be quite an enjoyable experience, Gucci – gotta love it! Having gotten a preview of what the new flats looked like at LBM, I knew I wanted them. Strategically carrying my Gucci purse I gained instant creditability with the sales staff, François in particular. The flats were an instant hit, so much so that Francois insisted on pulling out the matching purses (just received on Friday). Despite my longing to spend more time in the shop, I knew I need to continue to stay on schedule. Roger was calling…and I was ready to answer! The Roger Viver boutique is exquisite – even had the opportunity to check out the VIP room. The next stop was the Champs Elysee. I spent the next few hours literally strolling the magnificent street in awe. Stopping for a crepe here and an ice cream there I was so content. Realizing that it might be a good idea for me to actually indulge in some real food, I meandered off the Champs Elysee to a corner brasserie. As I took my seat at the outside table, I turned to my left and stared in disbelief. I was looking at the exact hotel where I had stayed the first time I came to Paris. I just couldn’t believe it – by no means did I intend to find this… funny how things seem to find you.

Sunday was spent wondering more streets and popping in the few shops that were open. I strolled through the Lourve and Tulleries and enjoyed another crepe (ok, 2 more). The time pasted quickly and I found myself rushed to get back to the hotel, grab my things (multiple bags now) and get to the train station. Evidently everything runs on its own time in Paris except the trains which leave promptly at their scheduled departure as I was so nicely told by the train attendant when I arrived 1 minute late. Nearly out of breath, I headed to the ticket counter to re-book myself on the next train. Luckily, the man behind the counter was a friendly Parisian who didn’t charge me for the ticket change and offered some advice on where to spend the next 2 hours waiting for my train.

Once aboard, I was faced with another set of “party seats” and because I’m such a dedicated worker, I was determined to find an outlet on the train. So I made my way to the dining car and befriended the man working behind the counter. I convinced him to let me use one of his outlets for my computer. I spent the next 3 hours at the bar, not uncommon for me, however this time I was typing away rather then knocking a few back.

When I exited Central Station (back in Amsterdam), I joined the taxi line. Even though I had spent my quota in Paris, this was one luxury I wasn’t ready to give up just yet.