Picture this: old broken-down van, shaggy-haired blond, embarrasssedly whisteled along to Sk8ter Boi type, Dutch surfer boy in the drivers seat, rolling up into Amsterdam playing Everybody Must Get Stoned.
That´s exactly how Margaret and I returned to the city.
We walked back to the hostel, up the steeper-than-we-remembered staircase, checked in, dropped off our ish, met our bunkmates (2 NJ natives, a German, and an Irishman--Sounds like a bad joke...) and went off in search of food...But nothing is ever that easy.
Two road-weary travelers hit the streets of Amsterdam in search of a cheeseburger. What they find? A comedy troupe from Chicago and a show called Can´t Dutch This. We got the "America, Fuck Yeah" discount and sat next to an extremely talkative Canadian who didn´t understand why we, as Americans, didn´t have guns, and was convinced he didn´t sound Canadian. He was wrong...
We returned to the hostel to write some last-minute Netherlands postcards and befriended the hostile hostel cat. Ok, so she was only hostile toward Margaret, but she did decide that my attention belonged to her rather than to my postcards which she showed by curling up on the stamps and purring at me...What can I say? Sometimes I make friends...
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