Bad day in Amsterdam/Good day in Rotterdam

Travel lets you experience the joys of a new city, new energy and a sense of discovery along with so many other people of different races, creeds and nationalities.  I wake up every day feeling incredibly lucky to have the time, money, and freedom to spend on travel.

And then some days, I just wish I had an electric cattle prod.

AmsterDAM!  Friday was a bad day.

I got a late start – not a bad thing on its own.  I was catching up on some writing.  I sped that up because it was getting increasingly noisy in the hotel and I hadn’t had anything to eat yet.  I figured I’d do my laundry first before my next flight on Sunday.  I had asked the desk clerk about onsite laundry on my first day at the Moxy.  He said, as long as I bought the detergent, he’d let me use the machine on site.  On that crisp Friday morning, I attempted to do just that, laundry and soap in hand, only to be told by a different guy that only guests who were staying for two weeks were allowed to do their laundry on site.  Otherwise, I’d have to schlep my dirty drawers all the way into Amsterdam, by shuttle and train, to get them clean.  Pass.  I’ll just have to wait until my next destination (or see if that other clerk shows up on Saturday).

I thought to do something different and head into Rotterdam for the day. I took the train to the city, got out at the station only to realize that my 3-day pass does not cover trips to Rotterdam.  I could not get out of the station.  There were no ticket booths inside – you have to purchase them before you enter.  My only other choice was to head back to Schiphol or Amsterdam Centraal.  Moral of this story, kids; pay attention to the map they give tourists when you purchase a short-term pass.  It covers a lot of territory in The Netherlands, but not everywhere.  Rotterdam and some of the outlying cities, while not that far from the airport, have to be purchased on a separate ticket.

I got on the train back to the airport only to get about 5 minutes into the journey when a guy comes to check my ticket.  Huh?  No one ever checked before.  Sigh.  I explain to him about the Rotterdam mistake and how, since I couldn’t get out of the terminal, I was heading back to Amsterdam.  He said that was fine, but I was also sitting in the First-Class area (red seats).  I’d have to move to the next car and the blue seats.  Admittedly, that encounter went a lot better than I thought it would.  He wasn’t rude or anything, didn’t charge me for my mistake even though I was prepared to pay.  Instead, I went to the cheap seats as asked – and immediately regretted it.  I understand why someone would pay for the First-Class seats.  That car was empty except for me, which made it gloriously quiet.  As soon as I sat down in the cheap seat, the train made a stop and the rowdiest bunch of Irish guys sat right behind me.  They were talking so much and laughing so loud, it physically hurt to be around them.  I gritted my teeth.  It was only one more stop to Amsterdam Centraal.

Then, of course, I got off the train to be surrounded by oh-so-many more people.  Just what I needed to make my day complete.  I had to take a minute by the canal to calm myself before moving any further.

When I tell you that Amsterdam is stupid with tourists, I mean it.  They’re stopping in the middle of a walkway to take pictures, they’re running into you because they’re too busy staring at their phones, they’re using their kid-filled strollers as battering rams to get through a crowd.  It’s already difficult to maneuver around the bikes, the cars, the trams – everything is made so much worse when you have to dodge and weave so many pedestrians.  And as I was already in a piss-poor mood, this is where the cattle prod comes to mind.

Thank you so much, ma’am for blowing smoke directly in my face.  ZAP!

I’m already risking my life by stepping into the bike lane to avoid you, and you’re backing up?  Are you trying to get me killed?  Well, I’m definitely zapping you!

You haven’t even done anything to me, but you probably would if given a chance.  ZAP!

Before I started slapping everyone in my way, I wandered out of the more touristy areas and to some peace and quiet.  After a while, I realized that I was going around in circles trying to find my way back to the train station.  I finally resorted to using the phone to get back.  By the time I saw the station, I was tired and famished.

I found my way to a nice sit-down place called Cau.  I had a very good (if very pricey meal) that included a couple of drinks (that I really needed) and a piece of Amsterdam’s Dutch Apple Pie (tasty).  Then it was a mad dash to the train station.  I was more than done with this day.

Made it through the train ride and stood outside Schiphol to wait for the hotel shuttle.  And wait.  And wait. I watched the other hotel shuttles return two, sometimes three times and still no Moxy shuttle.  I never before had to wait so long for it.

I dashed inside to go to the bathroom before I started doing the pee-pee dance.  Ended up breaking a couple of nails as I always tend to do when I’m stressed and in a hurry.  Ran back out … and still no shuttle.  I knew this because the large group of people in the waiting area had only gotten bigger while I’d been inside.

I ended up waiting outside Schiphol for almost an hour.  I was just about to get a cab when the shuttle finally showed up.

Friday was a bad day.  That’s all I’m trying to say.

Saturday.  A bright new day and I have a plan.  Buy an actual ticket to Rotterdam (30 euros – the same price as the three-day ticket to Amsterdam and its surrounds) and take the 20-minute train there.  I got out at the station and – the ticket lets me pass.  I was able to leave the station!  Yay!

Something of note about this train station.  One side of it lets out onto a nice path by a pond.  The other side lets out directly to the commercial side of town (pictured above).  Unless you know about this beforehand, there is no way you’d ever guess that.  The train station at Amsterdam Centraal is the same.  The front of the building is this grand, red brick façade that leads to the heart of the city.  The other side has a more modern design and leads to a wide canal.  The facades don’t even look like they’re part of the same building and yet they are.  Funky architecture is a Dutch staple.

Rotterdam is no exception to this rule.  One of its biggest tourist attractions is the cube houses.  This complex is situated near a train station and is touted as the design of the future.  Yeah.  I don’t know about that.  For a small fee, you can tour one of the houses with its sloped ceilings and narrow stairs.  Being tall, as most of the Dutch are, I had to do a lot of ducking to make sure I didn’t bump my head.  And the ‘neighborhood’ is a literal tourist trap.  There’s are multiple souvenir shops in the courtyard to cater to the scores of people prowling around.  Some residents had to put signs in front of their staircases to make sure the tourists don’t bother them.  I enjoyed my visit, but I really don’t see the appeal of living in one of these places.

Sidenote:  screw Dutch stairs.  Having to go to the bathroom a lot, I’ve become very familiar with the dark, narrow, sometimes windy staircases that lead to the bowels of some Dutch restaurant.  They may be space saving and efficient, but they are also scary.  I usually went down them sideways, clutching the rail because I really don’t want to find out how good Dutch medicine is.  Those stairs are awful. 

I wandered around to a street market.  I’m curious now.  Is this an everyday thing, all these festivals and markets just popping up everywhere?  If so, The Netherlands is more of a party country than I realized.  There is always something going on to catch your interest, even if you’re not into drugs and hookers.  The market sold pretty much anything you can think of from clothes to household items, meats and cheeses, as well as hot foods from snacks to full meals. 

I walked the stalls for a while then headed to this insanely designed building.  The Markthal is full of cafes and restaurants along with a few retail stores.  That was interesting enough, but then I exited the place and realized that there are apartments all around the sides of the building.  That is insane to me.  But again, efficient.

I finally broke down and got some fries from inside the Markthal and took my treat to the nearby park to eat it.  Fries are considered more a meal here than a snack and the Dutch prefer to eat them with garlic aioli rather than ketchup.  The sauce on these is more a mild cheesy mayo called fritesauce.  They were delicious but fair warning; don’t immediately dig in.  The things are fresh out of the fryer and you will burn your mouth.

And while I’m on subject of food, a few notes.  I went into a cheese shop and was automatically offered some free cheese.  It was good, but I couldn’t purchase anything since I was leaving soon, on an airplane, and didn’t have a fridge in the hotel.  It’s a shame because the variety of cheeses they produce in The Netherlands is insane and I’d love to try them all.  If you go to Amsterdam, make sure you at least enter a cheese shop.  They’ll give you free cheese and who doesn’t love free cheese?

This is a stroopwafel, a mini one I got with my breakfast cappuccino one day.  They are made up of two crispy wafers with syrup between them.  They sell the larger size in the grocery stores, but you can also buy them at stands around town.  They’re not bad.

Unlike my return trip to Schiphol on Friday, this trip from Rotterdam went off without a hitch.  I spent the rest of the night getting ready for my flight on Sunday.  And that temper tantrum I thought I’d have upon leaving Amsterdam?  Nah.  I’m good.  It’s not that I didn’t enjoy the city and would happily return.  I was just ready to move on, very glad that I wasn't returning to the states.

Unfortunately, I took with me a souvenir that I really didn’t want.  On my last full day in the city, I woke up with a scratchy throat.  It developed into a mild cough that had me scrambling to find some cough drops on the way to my plane in Schiphol.  You know what’s hard to read?  Cough medicine labels in Dutch.  I found something I thought sounded good and asked the cashier about it.  Turns out I was right. So, me and my Dutch cough drops boarded the plane to my next destination. 

(I feel like there is so much more to say about Amsterdam, but three posts are already a lot.  As I write this, it's 3 weeks later and I have moved on to 3 other locales in that time.  Let me just say that Amsterdam is awesome and everyone should visit.  Become one of the stinking hordes of tourists, have some cheese, and try not to pee in the canals.  The Dutch really don't like that.)

  

Amsterdam Part 2

 

T-shirt in hand, I continued my wandering.  Following a crowd, I ended up at Vondel Park, one of the city’s highlights.  And with good reason.  This place is amazing.  It’s huge with multiple ponds scattered about, wide trails to accommodate bikes and pedestrians, and lots of benches and swathes of grass for meeting up.  I love when a city provides nice green spaces for the citizens to get away from the cars and crowds of downtown.  This is by far the nicest such park I’ve seen.

Using my phone to navigate again, I figured I’d visit the Rijksmuseum since it was nearby.  There’s an extensive tram system that will take you from the train station to all the tourist sites, but I was happy to walk.  Being on the ground in Amsterdam really shows you how open the city is.  The souvenir shop will be next to a cheese shop, next to a head shop selling mushrooms, cannabis, edibles, and paraphernalia, next to a café, next to a sex shop.  You can get all your vices fed on one street with zero shame.  I walked into one sex shop, compared the dildos for color, shape, length, then passed by the ball gags and the stand of pornographic postcards, then just left for the next shop.  Easy.

And just a note -- what is up with these duck shops?  I've seen them in mutitple European cities.  Why?  What's the deal with the ducks!?!

Getting into the museum was not so easy.  There is no ticket booth.  Instead, there is a barcode on one of the doors.  You have to scan it with your phone (it is truly scary how pervasive those things have become – to the point where you can’t enter a facility without one) and buy the tickets online.  Except it wouldn’t let me.  I found the site just fine, but I guess the museum was sold out for the next few days.  Oh well.  I can really take museums or leave them.  Same with churches.  They are pretty to look at and I can appreciate the history, but I’ve always been weirded out going into them as a tourist.  Even for a heathen like myself, it seems sacrilegious.

Thursday arrived as another pretty day.  The Moxy offers a decent breakfast, not as good as the free breakfast in Woodstock, but still worth the $15.  And just to top Mykonos, this place not only had two of those coffee machines, it also had another machine that dispensed water and juice.  Very nice.

After a hearty breakfast, I got my token for the shuttle, rode to Schiphol, and headed for the train into the city.  I then went straight to the Lovers Canal Tours.  12 euros gets you a one-hour tour through the city with a recorded voice (dubbed in 16 languages) pointing out the sites.  The boat was enclosed (the main reason I picked it because the freaking wind was so strong) and a pleasant way to the see parts of the city one might miss because of all the walking involved.

Wandering off afterwards, I found yet another park.  Not as nice as Vondel, but it’s still another gathering space that I highly enjoyed.  Yes, I can admit it.  Even having no kids, I am still an old grandma at heart.  I prefer a park to a nightclub.  And, continuing that theme, I’m usually asleep by 10 or 10:30.  So if you want to know what the night life is like in Amsterdam, I am not the one to ask.  I’m sure it’s full of drunken, high tourists looking to get laid and peeing in the canals.  A little too much excitement for me.  Just hand me some breadcrumbs so I can feed the birds.

Just beyond the park was a strip mall of sorts.  A few restaurants were next to a museum.  The eateries weren’t to my taste, so I headed to the Fabrique Des Lumieres to join the other culture aficionados.  Honestly, I was just looking for a bathroom.  But, hey, I can spend 16 euros for some culture after my call of nature break.  I entered the space in near darkness.  Turns out the display is a roughly 10-minute loop of Dali’s paintings projected in vibrant color in a 360-degree rotation.

After the Dali display there was a similar 5-minute one of Gaudi’s works.  Classical music played during Gaudi, but Pink Floyd was the soundtrack for Dali.  And it was very fitting considering his trippy work.  I can just imagine someone picking up one of the multitudes of pot products in the city then going to this exhibit and tripping out.  Dude.  The colors.

Directly across from the museum was a street fair full of food trucks.   An overwhelming amount of food trucks.  

Any variety of food you wanted could be found here.  I wanted to sample some of the BBQ, or tacos or desserts, but was concerned that I didn’t have any cash on me.  In fact, I hadn’t hit an ATM the entire time I was in Amsterdam because I didn’t need to.  The Dutch are very big on tap to pay – as long as you have a credit/debit card with a chip, you are good to go anywhere in the city.  Including, as it turns out, this street fair.  Seems they know that no one carries cash here so everyone has either the hand-held readers I’ve seen all over Europe, or they have a set up on their phones.  No worries as everyone is prepared to take your business.

There was a stand in the back full of Jamaican people just burning some chicken.  The smell of it wafted over the entire fair, drawing enough people that they had their own cordoned-off line.  This is the choice of cart that I made and it sure was tasty. 

I followed it up with a warm apple tart from a British stand.  That was strange – less apple and more of a mixed berry tart with marshmallow (the Devil’s Pillows), ice cream and topped with dried flowers, but still a nice end to the meal.

Please note that this was on a Thursday in the middle of the day.  The museum exhibit was packed as was the street food fair and the park.  And you can’t tell me that all these people were tourists – too many of them spoke Dutch.  It’s a testament to the culture that so many people have enough leisure time to just spend in the park in the middle of a workday or have enough personal leave to take the family to a street fair.

Amsterdam by the Scenic Route

Making last minute, international flights is not the easiest thing to do.  Or the cheapest.  But that’s the price you pay for not being more organized from the start.

Thanks to an urban planning YouTube channel called Not Just Bikes, I’ve wanted to visit the Netherlands for months now.  With all the bikes, public transit, and the extreme walkability of the place, it’s exactly where my head has been for a while now.  Only one problem though; it is not cheap.   The cheapest flight I could find would route me through Istanbul before reaching the Netherlands.  That is nuts.  I kept rejecting that flight and looking for another, but that was the best I could find.  A non-stop flight would have cost me an additional $900.  So.  I guess I’m going to Turkey.

The flight through Turkish Airlines was packed to the gills.  And way too many of those people were children.  Screaming, crying, jumping up and down, reaching through the seat to touch me.  There were two kids in front of me whose mom only occasionally sat with them.  They played movies all night long and refused to sleep.  And because they didn’t, I barely did.  Some baby up front was constantly fussy.  The dad kept walking him up and down the aisles to try to calm him down.  The best thing I can say about the 10.5-hour flight is that the food was decent and they give you a little care package. Oh, and the legroom wasn’t too bad.

Finally arriving in Istanbul, I settled in for a 5-hour layover.  That airport is huge!  It makes Atlanta look tiny.  There’s an entire shopping mall in the place.  I completely understand why all Turkish Airlines flights give you such long layovers here.  Not only is this their hub, but they’re trying to drum up business for the airport and the country as a whole.  After wandering aimlessly for a while, I trudged the eight miles to my gate and boarded my 3.5-hour flight to the Netherlands.

Even after an insanely long day, I was still impressed with Schiphol.  I knew from YouTube that it was also a central train station hub as well as the main airport.  The place is set up to be a social gathering spot as well.  It has a bunch of cafes and shops as well as a grocery store for maximum convenience.  Since my hotel was near the airport, they provided a shuttle to and from for a small fee.  I went outside and didn’t have long to wait before the Moxy shuttle arrived.

I have never been to a Moxy hotel before.  I booked it because I’ve recently become a Marriot Rewards member and this was one of their hotels.  It’s … different.  Lots of neon, funky decorations (the Do Not Disturb sign has a picture of a shirtless guy on a bed with the words written on his chest in red lipstick), and the reception area is also the bar.  Ooh.  Edgy.

Too tired to explore, I took a shower and went straight to bed.  There is a motion detecting light beneath the bed that activates as soon as you put your feet over the edge.  Makes it easier to get to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

You know it’s a bad sign when it’s my first day in a new city and I can feel a temper tantrum coming on upon leaving it.

Translation: I love Amsterdam.

I knew from the first morning when I got off the Moxy shuttle at Schiphol.  I can’t describe it.  I was just very happy to be there.  It could have just been a giddy form of jet lag, but there it was anyway.  It was a too-cold-for-May day and very gray outside, yet I still loved walking around the airport.  Like I mentioned earlier, it was really designed to be a gathering place, so there were plenty of people just hanging out.  At the airport.  Since when would you ever voluntarily do that at any other airport?

I bought a 3-day train pass then headed to the Amsterdam Centraal station.  As soon as you exit the building, the whole city is laid out in front of you.   I loved seeing the old buildings by the canals with all the bikes everywhere.  I loved that everything is so accessible and there is a lot to see. 

The only real problem I have with this city is the weather.  While it was sunny most of the time, the temperature only got cooler as the day went on.  And the wind.  I’d only be outside for a few minutes before the wind was bringing tears to my eyes and making everything blurry.  Portugal was warmer in March than Amsterdam is in May.  Come on!  It’s nearly summer already!  The weather and the exorbitant price of housing is why I could never live in that city.  But I already knew that before arrived.

I met this absolutely lovely couple named Jerry and Donna who sat next to me on a bench by a canal.  We sat for 20 minutes talking about everything, our hotels, where we’ve been, and where we’re going.  They are from North Carolina and mentioned that they’d already met multiple people like me who’d arrived the day before and were from the east coast of the U.S.  They were in Amsterdam with a group of ten people and planned to head to Switzerland to go kite jumping.  The group is called the Chipmunks, named after a member who used to catch the animals in their neighborhood and release them miles away.  On one of these trips, he had a car accident, went to the ER and found out he had stage 4 pancreatic cancer.  In case you don’t know, that is a death sentence.  He decided to spend what time he has left travelling.  His group of friends decided to join him and this is their 4^th European trip.  It’s been 4 years since his diagnosis and the doctor (Dr. Martini – I’m never forgetting that name) only recently discovered some new issues with him.  New treatment has also been discovered so his outlook isn’t so grim.  The fact that he’s survived for so long is already amazing and I wish him the best.

Amsterdam has a lot of museums and points of interest.  The famous Rijksmuseum and Van Gogh Museum are a little farther from the train station, but what is right up front?  The Sex Museum.  It’s right there on the main strip near the souvenir shops and the restaurants.  I passed by it a couple of times before deciding to dive in.  Yeah.  It’s not for the prudish.  There is nudity everywhere including a life size animatronic of a flasher right at the beginning, huge statues of erect penises, photos and artwork from around the world, interactive displays – you name it and it was in there.  Everything except a live sex show.  Maybe that was closed for the day.

Since I was on a roll, I made a detour to the infamous Red-Light District.  At first, I only saw a few rooms with lights on, but no one inside.  And then – oh.  There are the half-naked women for hire. The city’s openness about sexuality and prostitution is one of the things that makes Amsterdam famous but, again, I run into the tourist problem.  These ladies are just trying to earn a living and then all these gawking tourists (myself included) walk by with no interest in spending any money.  They are just another sight to see – so much so that I’d seen a tips video on YouTube claiming it best to visit in the daytime and not to take pictures of the ladies.  I do hope they make a good living on all the tourists.

Took my obligatory trip to the Hard Rock.  I’m glad I used my phone because there is no way I would have stumbled on the place in my usual wanderings.  The young guy at the counter asked me where I was from.  When I said Georgia, he asked what I thought about Louisiana.  Uh.  He happened to be an Italian student who had gotten scholarships to schools in California, Texas, and Louisiana.  I told him truthfully that the state has a lot of poverty and violence, that America as a whole is not the best place for anyone to live.  From the choices he had, though, I said that Austin was probably the best in a bad lot.  I wished him luck, whatever he decided. 

Sigh. America.

 

It’s bad enough that I have to return to the states.  It’s even worse that the liquids that I traveled with through three countries are suddenly too much to get on the plane in Dublin (the gallon Ziploc I used had to be scrapped for a quart size – anything that didn’t fit had to be tossed).  But the worst part is that I couldn’t get a direct flight from Dublin to Atlanta.  I had a single layover.

JFK is not a happy place.  I only knew the airport by its bad reputation and had managed to avoid it.  Until this trip.  The flight from Dublin was unremarkable (some more accents on Aer Lingus).  Then it was on to the fun of this infamous airport in New York.

First, I was confused by my luggage tag.  I had checked in by machine in Dublin and the tag said my bag was cleared for JFK and not Atlanta.  I had already passed through baggage claim when I realized this and went into panic mode.  I stood in line to ask about the bag and after some scrambling by the staff, they told me it was checked through.  I sighed in relief, then tried to figure out where to catch my plane.  I went to the nearby gate only for the staff to flag me down to tell me that I had to go across the street to catch a train to the correct terminal.

Second, I was confused by the train station.  I made it there okay, but the signage said that the station was closed due to construction.  There were some other people also waiting so I thought I was in the right place.  There was no staff around to ask so I just waited and hoped for the best.  The train did eventually show up and it was on to the next terminal.  And I thought Atlanta was huge.  This place is insanely big and there’s construction everywhere to expand it.  Forget the three-hour window you should give yourself for an international flight.  Including New York traffic into the mix and you should probably head into the airport 5 or 6 hours early.  Just to be on the safe side.

And third, even though I was only transferring from one airline to another, in my home country, I had to, once again, go through security.  That whole process is a pain the butt to begin with, but I just went through it in Dublin.  It was yet another long line (of New Yorkers – a loud, colorful bunch), shoes off, electronics out, put your hands up (you’re under airport arrest). And my already screened bag got flagged.  Sigh.  The souvenir corkscrew that I’d managed to get through Portugal, Greece, and Ireland, on the last leg before I put it in storage, gets tossed.  It only cost me about three euros, it’s easily replaceable because I will be returning to Madeira, and I already had a corkscrew in storage.  Not the point.  I was almost done.

Needless to say, by this point I was pissed.

The only (slightly) redeeming aspect of this flight was getting to see New York as I was happily leaving it.  I had only been through the city by car once on a camping trip from Maryland to Nova Scotia decades ago.  My mother always said we would take a train ride up for a shopping trip, but that never happened.  And since the city has been in steady decline for years, I think this might be the only time I get to see it.  At least you can’t see all the rats and garbage from up high.

One other thing.  This was my first time traveling on JetBlue and I was somewhat impressed.  Compared to the service on Aer Lingus, this American airline actually came out on top.  Imagine that.

Back in Atlanta.  Tell me, has this airport always been this big?  Yes, it was my home airport for almost 30 years.  But after dealing with some smaller and easier to manage airports in Europe, this place feels like a city unto itself.  I had to trek about 10 miles to get to baggage claim, then another 20 miles by Skytran to get to the car rental place.  I don’t recall ever renting a car from the airport as I’d always had my own car, but I don’t remember the rental place being in a separate building on the other side of the highway.  The multi-level facility feels brand new as there is still construction going on around it. 

After waiting for far too long, I got a ride and prepared myself to re-enter the joy of Atlanta traffic.  And there was so much joy to be had for everyone. For so many people.  The only good thing I can say is that after 2 months of strictly being a pedestrian, driving didn’t feel as alien as I thought it would.  The car helped.  It was a Toyota Corolla, not too different from the Honda Civic I used to have, so it wasn’t hard to figure out the controls or move it through traffic.  I just had to remember that it was a black car with Kansas license plates.

I had scheduled a stay in a Fairfield Inn in Woodstock.  I’d stayed there after I sold the house before my trip to Portugal and knew it was a decent place with a free breakfast.  It was also centrally located to all the places I needed to visit; the pharmacy, my P.O. box, and my storage facility.

I’d lived in this area for almost twenty years and know it very well.  It’s only after a couple of months in Europe that I realized something; there aren’t a lot of restaurants here.  Oh, there are plenty of fast-food joints and chain places, but very few diners or independent restaurant owners.  That is troubling.  I looked for somewhere to sit down and maybe have a drink and the only things available were Burger King, or Popeye’s, or Chipotle.  Since all these places are geared to attract car traffic, they are very close to the road and easy to see.  Any little restaurant tucked into a strip mall would be missed because there’s a huge parking lot between them and anyone who might see them.  You’d only visit them if you already knew they were there.

About the fast-food joints – what has happened in the last few months?  I only rarely hit Wendy’s when I was in Woodstock and had encountered some staff shortages and long wait times.  But now?  I went to one Wendy’s only to find it closed.  Went to Burger King – they were having computer issues and couldn’t take orders.  Went to Popeyes and was completely ignored (though I think they were still open).  I eventually went to IHOP only because I was hungry and they were actually open.  I don’t think I’ve ever been there for dinner, but I took my chances.  The place barely had anyone in it, allowing me to enjoy my salmon, mashed potatoes, and broccoli in peace.  And this was a Friday night.  What is happening?

I’ll admit it; I’ve gotten spoiled.  I am now a big fan of finding a nice meal with an adult beverage in walking distance.  This deal of having to drive around looking for food and still coming up empty is not working for me.  I’d seen multiple videos on YouTube from folks who had moved abroad, then come back to the states and experienced reverse culture shock.  It only took me a couple of months, but I’m already right there with them.  I just hoped that the reports of those same people getting sick from American food wouldn’t apply to me as I would only be there for a couple of days.

This picture is from Food Terminal in Alpharetta.  I had seen the restaurant before I left for Europe and had no idea what it was.  Now back in the states and desperate for a meal that wasn’t fast food, I ventured in.  Turns out, it’s an expensive Chinese place that plays country music.  Strange, but not a bad meal.

Picked up my mail including the box of souvenirs I’d sent from Greece (I still can’t believe it arrived before I did!). Included in the post was the check from selling my car (which I expected) and a check from Wells Fargo, refunding my escrow account.  Didn’t see that coming, but I will happily take that $1300 and do some more travel 😊.

A brief history of my prescription drama.  I was diagnosed with high blood pressure almost twenty years ago.  It runs on both sides of my family, I’m black, and overweight so the diagnosis didn’t surprise me.  The meds I’m on are insanely expensive which is why most pharmacies don’t carry them.  I had a mail-in drug service with my employer which made getting a 90-day supply easier to attain and only costing me $125 per shipment.  Well, when the job ended, so did the insurance and the mail-in service.  I resorted to hitting a local CVS for my last bottle of pills, which, without insurance, cost me $1300 for a 3-month supply.  I did not want to pay that, but I was heading out of the country with no guarantee that the pill would be available overseas.

After scouring three countries, I was able to find similar pills only in Greece.  I’m sure the lady behind the counter thought this American woman had lost her mind as I was practically jumping up and down to find some HBP medicine.  I was able to score a month’s worth of pills for a fraction of the cost in America and I didn’t need a prescription.  It was a miracle.

One that was not to be repeated in the states.  I had phoned in my order from Dublin but knew there would be a problem because there always is.  My secondary script was filled perfectly – thank you.  But once again, they tried to give me the generic of my Diovan which I have repeatedly told them does not work for me.  The prescription from my doctor says no generic, I have told them no generic, the last bottle of pills I got from this pharmacy was not generic (and had to be brought in special order).  Why do I keep having to explain this to these people?

They said they would put in the order and it should arrive the next day.  Uh huh.  In the meantime, I went to my storage facility.  I had this insane notion of repacking my bag with a different set of clothes.  Then I opened the door to my unit.  Yeah.  Right.  If I had packed this space myself, I might have an idea where anything was located.  But, since the movers packed the space to the gills, there was no way I’d be able to find anything without ripping through every box.  Not happening.  I dropped off the souvenirs and called it a day.

Since I still had no idea where I was going next (as long as I was in Europe, I didn’t care), I extended my stay for another day.  It didn’t help that I couldn’t get a consistent WIFI connection in the hotel.  As I mentioned, I’ve stayed there before and the connection was fine.  Now, after two months of mostly decent connections in Europe, I got nothing.  So, yeah.  That makes sense. 

Went back to CVS on my last day expecting another hassle and, as usual, they didn’t disappoint.  After a long wait, then a long search, the clerk tried to give me the same pills I had rejected two days before.  Then after another search, she said that the pills I ordered hadn’t arrived.  I said thanks and promptly left.  I’d have to find another source.  At this point, I’d rather go back to Greece and clean them out than go through this nightmare again.

 I managed to make flight arrangements from my phone and was too happy to get back to the airport.  Three nights in the country were more than enough to make me look forward to the long trip I’d have to take to get back to Europe. 

Dublin Part 2

 

Sunday, 5/7/23, and the highlight of my trip, the reason I had booked this hotel, in this city, for this time was to see my favorite band, Duran Duran.  Their tour will take them to the US soon and since I won’t be there for that, this was the only date where our schedules would line up.

They put on a great show even with the weird set list and the different energy from an Irish audience.  I’ve always referred to them as The Boys, but this concert just reminded me that they’re sexy old men now.  At one point, 64-year-old Simon LeBon climbed the staircase on the stage and I thought to myself “don’t you jump off that thing like you did 40 years ago – you’re gonna break a hip.”  All said in love, though.  I realize I’m no spring chicken myself (so many gray hairs!).  But as long as The Boys keep touring, I’ll keep buying tickets.  That’s the pact we made back in the eighties and that’s how it’ll be until one of us is dead.  Durannie for life.

Walking out of the venue, I noticed something.  I don’t even think the arena has a parking lot.  It’s expected that everyone will either walk or take the bus or tram to the venue.  There were lanes set up upon our exit that shepherded us directly to a line of buses or the tram.  It took me a while to even get out of the line since I needed no public transport as (ha ha!) my hotel was next door.  I wondered about the noise level – mine was only one of the hotels and residences in the area.  There was a Post Malone concert a few days after mine and I heard nothing from the venue.  No noise, no vibrations, just nothing.  The only noise I heard was later in the evening when the show let out and everyone was leaving.  That is amazing.  The entire setup is a true testament to good city planning.

The next day, I decided to go to Cork.  Taking the tram to the train made it insanely easy.  I was happy to see some of the countryside (so many cows and sheep!).  Two and half hours later, we arrived at the train’s final destination.  Though Cork is home to the Blarney Stone and a couple of castles, I spent my time just wandering around the city central.  It’s like a mini-Dublin in that it has a river going down the middle of it and a has a lively restaurant/shopping district.

Arriving back in Dublin, I stopped off in the city central for a meal before heading back to the hotel.  I chose a place across the river based on the loud Irish singing coming from inside and the menu that touted authentic Irish fair.  

I ordered brown bread (heavy, cold, and kinda tasteless even with butter), and a Sheppard’s pie (which was delicious).  And no, I didn’t have a Guinness to go with it.  I know it’s just natural to order one while in a place like this.  But after two long train rides (and delays on the one coming back), I really just wanted a glass of white wine.  (Actually, I wanted a glass of vinho verde but since I wasn’t in Portugal to have it, I settled for some Pinot Grigio.) I was in a great position to watch the bartender pour out multiple glasses of the thick brown beer and got to thinking.  If I ordered one, not being a beer drinker, and didn’t like it, I’d end up pissing off the loads of American tourists and drunken Irish people in the room.  Not really in the mood to start an international incident.

My last full day in Dublin was dull, but necessary.  Despite my use of public transport, I had done way too much walking in both Dublin and Cork and my feet were done.  I needed a rest, as much as I didn’t want to admit it.  But I reminded myself that in my current job as permanent tourist, there are no weekends or planned downtime.  You gotta take it when you need it.  I spent the day doing my laundry and writing.  And it was a good, productive day.

My plan from the beginning was to spend a month in Portugal, a month in Greece, a month in the British Isles and then head back to the U.S. to refill my prescriptions, get my mail, and visit my storage facility.  The first two stops went well (if not entirely smoothly), but I couldn’t stay in the U.K. as long as I would have liked because everywhere was too dang expensive.  I wasn’t going to miss out on Dublin, but staying any longer would have eaten up way too much of my travel budget.  Look at it this way; I spent less for three weeks in Greece than for my one week at Beckett Locke.  And of course, after Dublin …

I woke up on travel day, 5/10/23, and had a full-blown temper tantrum.  There was cursing and slamming things around.  It wasn’t pretty.

I do not want to leave Dublin.

I do not want to get on a long plane ride.

I do not want to return to the states.

I was quite happy in my little apartment at Beckett Locke with all its amenities and easy access to transport. There was still so much to do, even though I really needed that day of rest.  Dublin, since the plane ride from Athens, had gotten my creative juices flowing and that’s exactly what I’d hoped to do on this travel journey.  I still can’t believe the week zoomed by so quickly.  Had I planned things out a bit better (or at all), I could have truly maximized my time there.  But I have to be spontaneous …

I sent a WhatsApp to the front desk to call me a cab and before I could blink, it had arrived.  The cabbie was a nice man who started up a conversation.  He asked me what I had seen in the country and how long I’d been there, instantly making me feel guilty for coming to his country and not having a beer.  Before the ride was over, he’d given me multiple suggestions about my next visit to Ireland and I’d told him about all the places I’d been in the last couple of months.  We both agreed that Dublin was too expensive and that Athens was a s%^$hole (his word).  He got me to the airport and hoped I’d return.  Me too, pal.  Me too.

Thus ends the first leg of my European Tour.  Wow, it has been a wild ride.  I will never get over the view from my last place in Funchal.  Never forgetting that bird in Mykonos.  I’m so grateful to have met the three Marias (Funchal, Naxos, and Santorini) and the lovely Valentina in Mykonos.  I do hope you have enjoyed reading about it.  

This next leg is still a mystery even to me.  Can’t wait to see how it turns out.

Dublin Part 1

There’s something to be said for spontaneity.  And sometimes being spontaneous just bites you in the ass.

On to Dublin, Ireland, a city and country I’ve wanted to visit for years.  Like with Greece, I’d bought the calendars featuring the rolling green countryside and dreamed of roaming the land myself.  I’d tried to plan trips in the past, but something would always happen to ruin things.  The first trip I planned got derailed because of a car issue.  The second time, my HVAC system blew up right in front of my eyes (that was a pricey one).  Well, now I got no car and no house.  Time to do this thing.

It’s a 4 ½ hour trip from Athens to Dublin, yet somehow it was still too long.  I think I was just ready to be done with Greece and move on.  The beauty part is that the plane ride only cost 140 euros and I got to listen to the pretty (if sometimes incomprehensible) Irish accents of Aer Lingus.

Beckett Locke, my home for the week, is a strange hotel/dorm hybrid located near the river Laffey.  It’s seven floors of rooms, each equipped with a nice sized bathroom and a small, kitchen stocked with utensils, a washer/dryer combo and dishwasher.  I chose this place 1) because as outrageously expensive as it was, it was still less expensive than some of the other places I’d seen and 2) because Expedia had it located close to 3Arena, a concert venue.  And they weren’t kidding.  The hotel is right next door.  I was shocked.  More on that later.

What I didn’t realize until I arrived is that it’s also a co-working center with lots of amenities.  There’s a full gym, a coffee bar and restaurant in the building (closed during my stay).  My room had a yoga mat in it and the giant swiveling TV touted all the activities the hotel offered.  It would make for a kickass dorm room or a way too small apartment, but for me, it was a pretty sweet hotel room. The only thing I found out-of-place were the grubby looking ceilings.  They were covered with exposed pipes and lighting that made me think the building had been an industrial space that was converted into apartments.

There is a tram just to the right of the building.  I only noticed the tracks on my first day as I searched for a 3-prong adapter for my computer.  The one I’d been using was only for the EU and the UK just has to be special.  There were no trams in sight as I crossed over them to get to the little convenience store.  The desk clerk told me they’d have the adapter but, alas, they didn’t.  The only other places in immediate walking distance were a few restaurants and a hotel.  So, my mission for my first full day was clear.

I looked up the closest electronics store that carried the adapter (Currys in the Jervis Shopping Centre) and promptly got on the good foot as soon as I woke up. Dublin is full of gorgeous architecture and lots of construction.   It feels clean, progressive, and full of life.  I don’t know if it’s because I was located near a college campus or what, but there are a lot of young people here.   They’re zipping around on scooters or the electric bikes that are available all over town to rent.   

It was only later did I realize that the tram that terminates right outside my hotel could have dropped me off at the Jervis Shopping Centre in less than ten minutes, saving me twenty minutes and some wear and tear on my feet.  At least I got my bearings on where everything was located.

Like coffee shops in Portugal, you can’t throw a stick without hitting a pub in Dublin.  There are hawkers out front giving out menus, musicians everywhere, both in the streets and in the pubs, and plenty of choices for real Irish fare.  So, of course, my first meal in the historic pub district was at the Hard Rock Café.  What can I say?  I’m obsessed with proving where I’ve been with my t-shirt choices.  The waiter gave me suggestions on where to visit, such as this little museum or a trip to the shore as it was a lovely day.  I stuck to wandering around aimlessly.  Still really good at that.

I hit the Dublinia museum which houses very immersive history of the Vikings settling Ireland.  There was so much to see in there that I’m sure I missed at least half of it.  The museum is surrounded by historical buildings, churches, and a really nice park. 

I finally figured out the tram system after a day or so.  At least, I thought I had.  I'd bought a ticket and was standing by the scanner next to the tram trying to figure out how it worked.  Sensing my clueless tourist vibe, a lovely Irish man got off the tram to help me.  He explained that having the ticket on me was enough and there was no need to scan it (that was only necessary for the hard tram cards, not my 7-day paper ticket).  There would occasionally be someone on the tram to check the tickets, but otherwise I was good to go.  Thank you, kind sir.

I was surprised by how much Gaelic is spoken in the city.  I don't know why, but I thought the language was more traditional than a living language.  Even the signage is in both English and Gaelic.  Everyone speaks English, but it was interesting to hear them speaking Gaelic to each other.

Guinness rules everything here.  Not only can you go to the bottling facility to take a tour, but the marketing is everywhere.  So is the beer as it is not just a draw for tourists but a big favorite of the locals.  I stopped by a tiny café run by Asians that advertised a full Irish breakfast.  The place was insanely popular – the staff didn’t even have time to clear a table before someone else was sitting down.  They served good food for a decent price and yes, you could get your breakfast with an Irish coffee or a half-pint of Guinness.

Just a note about my breakfast at that café.  As I was eating, a group of six guys, probably in their twenties, all came in together.  The place was small, as I mentioned, so they couldn’t sit together, but it didn’t matter.  They were a bunch of mates meeting for a meal.  Then two more of their friends came in to join them.  I didn’t know how they knew each other or if this was a regular thing for them.  What struck me was their ability to gather so many people in one place.  I had a friend who lived in another state and I could never get her to come to Atlanta for a weekend (I had a friend).  How do you get eight guys to drag themselves out of bed, remember the café and the time, and stumble in for some bacon and fellowship?  Who has seven friends in this day and age?  The whole thing was fascinating to me.