Amsterdam, You did a number on us

It is now Monday and I'm back in the real world of classes and back in the land of Danish and beauty. Cause let me tell ya, not all them Europeans be beautiful. My apologies to the Dutch.

Friday I spent the entire day cursing my professors in my head for making me come to class when I should be in Amsterdam doing Amsterdam things. I took a midterm (after watching the season finale of The Bachelor and yelling at my computer as he picked the woman who is going to ruin his life) that was surprisingly difficult considering the material we've covered in class and then sprinted to meet Sam, Francesca, and Sarah to walk to the airport. Sam and I rolled our wheely bags obnoxiously over the cobble stone the whole way there trying to ignore the vibes of annoyance by our fellow street travelers. After a struggle with the kiosks we finally checked in and got our boarding passes. We get through security (after I shove all of my liquids into Sam's plastic baggy because I'm a terrible traveler and forgot my plastic baggy) and find our gate without any mishaps. It seems to be a trend that in Europe they do not want you to actually use the comfy seats they put in the gates for waiting on your plane. Instead they insist upon keeping the doors closed and the seats empty until it is time for you to board your flight, therefore, making you use the floor outside of your gate as your waiting area. So that is what we did. That, and eat hotdogs. Liz and Elena arrive safe and sound.

We board our flight and find out Sam, Francesca, and I are the lucky ladies who are seated in the same area as some very inibriated Danes ready to go on their bro trip to Amsterdam. "What happens in Amsterdam, stayyyysss in Amsterdam" seemed to be their quote of choice. The red light district may have been their location of choice.

We land in Amsterdam, make the required bathroom and ATM stops, successfully buy train tickets (after butchering the station names) and buy Tram and bus station passes for the 48 hours. Yes, there were a few mishaps like being on the right platform but thinking we are on the wrong platform, therefore, racing up and down the escalator to catch the train. But for the most part, we did exceptionally well at getting all 6 of us to our hotel successfully.

The Flipper Hotel. An establishment we may never be allowed to show our pretty faces at again.
There were 7 of us this weekend. We booked a room that would sleep 5 and we said there were 4 people. Hey, when you can beat the system, beat the system, ya know? So four of us walk in were buzzed in and when they look up our booking number it turns out that we were declined a room. The email that got sent to notify us of this was misspelled and never reached anyone. We put on our best "we don't want to be homeless" faces and they agreed to give us a room for the night but they didn't have openings for Saturday night.  This room consisted of two very tiny twin beds and one double. Back to the fact that there were 7 of us this weekend. So we go get the three girls standing outside trying not to look suspicious. "They are meeting us for dinner..." is our very original excuse. We push all three beds together to make one gigantic bed. Snuggly we are.

We eat dinner at an Italian place where Francesca and I found out their wine packs a mean punch in one glass and I split a very tasty pasta dish with Sarah. Full and happy we wonder around in hopes to experience some Amsterdam nightlife. Australian bar it is. And we made it with 30 minutes left until happy hour! NOTE: These were big glasses. Or actually, normal size glasses but I've been in Copenhagen drinking out of mini glasses for so long I had forgotten what a normal size glass looks like.
Anyway, we dance and drink girly drinks for a while and then decide it's time to call it a night so we can be rested for Saturday.

Saturday: All 7 of us were up and ready to go by 10am! I must admit I had my doubts. 7 girls. 1 Bathroom. Odds were against us. The only problem we ran into was how all 7 of us were going to eat the complimentary breakfast that was only allowed for 4 of us and the receptionist who, if he could have articulated his concerns in English, would have probably made us pay for the 3 extra bodies we shoved in our tiny room. Language barrier for the win! Needless to say, we booked it out of that hotel.

We start Saturday off homeless but clean and well rested. We decide to take a free walking tour of the city through a company that does free tours all over Europe. What we didn't know was that this would match the plans of 100's of other tourists that Saturday morning. We missed out on the free tickets and when we realized they were counting the number of people in each group, nixed the idea of tagging along in one of them.

We do our own walking tour. Which meant taking pictures of buildings we couldn't pronounce and walking through crowded plaza's taking everything in. Gorgeous. We walked the canals and ate lunch at a pancake place that put any IHOP to shame. Back on the tram. We wait on the tram for a good 15 minutes while a parade of vegan protesters make their way through the city. My heart goes out to the cow I just ate for dinner, I assure you.
Liz and Elena split from the group to meet up with some friends who were also visiting the international city. Sam and Francesca bought tickets to the Heineken museum. Brenna, Sarah, and I take our limited funds elsewhere. We roamed around the city for hours having multiple near death by bike/vespa (vespo...? Those motorbike things) experiences, looking at lots of food, and visiting little shops. Suddenly we are very quiet and very sleepy. We arrive back at the hotel to wait on Sam and Francesca and end up watching Toddlers in Tiaras in complete silence. Nap time.

We ate dinner at a Chinese restaurant that was highly recommended. I cleaned my plate of sweet and sour chicken in record time and could have eaten another plate quite easily I'm sure. nomnomnom.

Red Light District. It does exist and frightening is a word I would use to describe it. Now, maybe the male population would disagree. Actually, at least the male population on that street Saturday night, would certainly disagree. We walked the long strip (ha, word choice) of houses with glowing red lights trying to be as un-awkward as possible. However, it is not so easy when you're watching men stand in large groups staring through a window at a woman pressed up against the glass. Also, these woman and I have very different opinions on what qualifies as undergarments.
But, when you're in Amsterdam you have to see this historic and famous district. I just hope those woman are getting less bang for their customers buck. I seriously crack myself up.
We ended the night at a very classy bar called Teasers. I had to venture in this place Sunday afternoon (different story) and I found myself extremely confused as to why Sam, Sarah, and I decided that it looked like a nice place to go as I watched half naked (hence the name "Teasers") girls dance on the bar and older men drinking beer with said girls half naked ass in his face. Sometimes our judgement baffles me, as I'm sure it baffles you readers as well. (Oh, and we may or may not have eaten Mcdonalds and I will just share this with you. No one does a double cheeseburger better than Amsterdam. It may have been as close to heaven as I will ever get.)

Sunday: We rise at a respectable 9 am ready to be more touristy. We get blessed with rain/snow and very cold weather to stand in line for 45 minutes at the Anne Frank house. However, from the looks of the line that formed behind us, we were the lucky ones. The museum was really great and worth the wait. Next we make the required stop at the I AMsterdam sign. Again, our plans seem to always be what everyone else plans to do which is why there are a billion strangers in all of my pictures at the sign. Lunch at the cheapest place we can find. Eat a whole pizza while I stare at a picture of a naked woman sitting in a bowl of pasta. nomnomnom
Back to the hotel to pick up bags. Wait for the rest of the group. Head to the airport. More sitting and waiting. Get on the plane and pass out before we even take off. Exhaustion has set in. Amsterdam, I commend you. "Wild" does not even do this city justice and I'm so glad I can say I've experienced it.

This week will consist of presentations, paper writing, and catching up on sleep. Two weeks to go until Czech Trek, Barcelona, and Lisbon. I can't even imagine how I will blog about those.

It's supposed to be around 60 sometime this week! Horray for warmth!

Wish you were here.

"Forget the Freshman 15, I gained the Bosnian 95"

Soup. Meat. Cheese. Bread. Vegetables stuffed with meat. Butter seeping out of  everything. Meat stuffed with Meat.

Welcome to Bosnian cuisine! In my attempt to figure out how to correctly spell an amazing meat thing I found a quote that describes it perfectly "No country grills up ground cow better than Bosnia". So true.

So, because the beginning of the week is a little fuzzy, seeing as how it was a week ago, I will be working backwards from my weekend to the beginning of last week. Be prepared, it could get a little scattered.

Sunday: Spent the day laying around watching Netflix and NOT eating and pretending to read about Vikings.

Saturday: Woke up from the best sleep I've had in a very long time. Laid around. Looked at my bags and contemplated unpacking and then decided that was silly and watched a movie instead. Made plans with people to go out...and then discovered that most of my class got sick from Bosnian food. Not meeee. This stomach is a tank. And as my professor stated this morning in class as I ate the free pastries that no one else could eat, "It's actually a new statistic, 4 out of 5 times when looking at Callie, she will be stuffing her face." Thank you Ulrik. Thank you.

Anyway, so those plans turned into plans with Sam, Brooke, Kate, and some of their friends who were studying abroad. We went to the Ice Bar. Which turned out to be a very cold, small, middle aged touristy bar with overpriced not so great drinks. So glad I paid an arm and leg to get that great experience. Oh well. I got to wear a huge parka thing with gloves attached. However, the bartender had a very hard time believing I was 18...and an even harder time believing I was almost 21.
Then we went to Night Fever, which is a bar that plays old school music. Once again, the bouncer questioned my age and asked for ID and patted me on the head and said I could pass for 15.
 
We did the 8th grade girl thing and circled up and sang backstreet boys, Michael Jackson, and Spice Girls while we drank cheap beer. Sam and I loose the group to exhaustion and make our way to A Bar where they are apparently hi-tech and put you in their system. I was a mix of impressed and nervous about having my picture taken and my id scanned...

We decided after a while to call it a night, especially after Heineken started tasting like water. So what do Sam and I bolt for? Mcdonald's my friends. Mcdonalds. I'm not even going to embarrass myself by telling you the amount of food we consumed as we sat there waiting for the train to come at 5am. I will just tell you this. I'm still full. or "mit" in Danish.

Friday: Woke up too early smelling like a cigarette from the previous night and Catie and I packed up our hotel room that had our belongings scattered all over the place. I hastily consume two rolls with chocolate on top for breakfast and we run off to have a lecture from a media NGO that tries to give Bosnia unbiased news, which is a rare occurrence. Come to find out our lecturer was hungover from the night before. I wish I could preform half that well hungover.

We then had a lecture from Nato. I had to do my best to focus on his words rather than his beautiful Australian accent and his adorable turtle neck. What can I say, it's a weakness of mine. No, really though. He was so extremely interesting and it really sparked an interest for me to get involved in Nato or the UN (even though the UN is a joke for the most part) after Law School. He discussed Nato's role in Bosnia during the war as well as their role in Bosnia today in the post-war conflict. He was brilliant. Alright that's enough about my creepy love for a middle aged Australian man.

After that we ate at a historical house/restaurant where yes, we ate soup, bread, meat, and cheese! And of course desert. Back to the hotel. Wait on the elevator for years. Ride in a cab for more years. Cab driver gets angry because we don't have enough to tip for him putting our bags in the car. Run away. Rush through security. Try to use up the remaining Marks in a duty free store which I was amazed with. Flight to Vienna. Go through security again. Forget I have a mini body wash in my backpack and the security guy and I go round and round about if I have liquids or not...He cursed ( or so I am assuming)  at me in German and I slink away after putting everything back in my backpack. Flight back to Copenhagen where I sat awkwardly next to a Danish man who smelled of alcohol and a cologne that  made me want to have the reaction that resembled the scene in Anchorman. (For my older generation of readers, it's not important.) Land in Copenhagen. The baggage thingy breaks and we wait for over an hour on our bags. My host dad graciously picks me up at the airport after I pay 12 dollars for a coffee at starbucks. I chatter away as the caffeine rushes through my exhausted body. Go home. Eat steak and chatter more about Bosnia. PASS OUT.

Thursday: MOSTAR. The place that comes up when you google Bosnia. It was by far the most beautiful place I've ever been. We started the morning early on the bus and were given interesting breakfast sandwiches that ended up making the entire bus smell funny for the rest of the day as the sandwiches sat on the hot bus all day. After a long drive we arrive in Mostar where we take a short walking tour through the city with the destination being of course, the famous bridge. Mostar was one of the most effected cities in Bosnia by the war. It was amazing how beautiful a place could still be even with shelled buildings all around.

We met with an NGO whose goal was to create relationships between children of different religions and ethnicities in Bosnia. On a daily basis, Bosnians, Serbs, and Croats are segregated in schools by "shifts" and floors. There history books typically end at the fall of the Berlin wall and the history of the war that is told is left up to individual teachers. So they are all taught different and obviously biased historical accounts making the divide between them resemble the divide between their parents and grandparents. It's a vicious cycle but their are NGO's like the one we met with who are dedicated to trying to bridge this gap with after school activities that will create communication between the youth.

We then had a lot of free time to to explore the old city which was covered in shops and photo ops. (As you can see from my Facebook pictures.) A few of us went to lunch that in Copenhagen would have cost me my budget for a month. It was mouthwatering good. More sightseeing and posing. Then we went to have coffee, wine, tea, and beer by the water. Then. MORE FOOD. I had my first experience with a whole fish. Cutting off the head and tail was a little strange. Good conversations. Good company. Life is good. Back on bus. Alexis and I spend the entire bus ride talking, making the trip seem like 5 minutes.

Get back pretty late. But it's our last night so we decide to make the most it. La Hacienda here we come. I became popular with the middle aged bartender after I ordered a drink called "adios mothaf..." yea. "Sucha big drink vor sucha vittle girl. Buct my most vaforite things come in de smallest sizes." (read in slovak accent...or if you're reading and know Sarah's Russian accent..insert it here.) After drinking said drink, I become a little worried about my tolerance level as I watch the boys in my class get drunk. No fair. We decide to bar hop a little and make our way to a bar called "Cheers" where the bartenders whistle obnoxiously and wear interesting hats. Which I decided I wanted to wear. So I took one.
Back to La Hacienda. Bosnian guy offers to buy me a drink. Culturally naive me sees no problem with this, however, I'm informed by his friend that I need to go sit with him. So I decide to follow the rules as to not be rude. I sip on my drink and we awkwardly chat and try to make the best of our language barrier. Now, it is the end of the night and I have bad eyes. I ask " So you are Jewish?" Him: "Vat?" Me: "You're head thingy" ( ah so politically correct I am) Him: "It's a tobagan" Me: Wow, I'm so sorry..."
I proceed to make my exit...and take my second drink with me even after he offers to take me home with him and make me breakfast. Again, culturally naive, because I later find out that accepting a drink is basically accepting the invitation to a good time and breakfast. Whoops.

Alright. That tis all for now. I know, I know, you can't wait to read more about my very nerdy visits with the EU and my walking tour of Sarajevo where I could barely contain my excitement as I stood where Franz Ferdinand was shot which "started" WWI. But I can only blog for so long and you're attention spans can only take so much. I must now go pretend to read more about Vikings and eat my butter and ham sandwich. mmmm.

Wish you were here.