What I Learned from Sharing a Sofa with a Dutchman

By Lindsey
I would say that regardless of our friendship Haylee, April, and I are strangely excellent traveling partners. We know when to laugh, when to pull it together, and when to figure out where the heck we are. We are constantly watching one another's backs. Most importantly though, we each bring something to the table when it comes to traveling.

Haylee has always been, and always will be, the logical one. She is the first to get us out of a pickle, and knows how to keep calm when a situation seems totally hopeless. April is the navigator. She plans, organizes, and executes each trip beautifully. She maps out exactly what we are going to do, when we are going to do it, and always makes sure that we haven't lost Haylee. I consider myself the unusually lucky one. Besides the fact that I am traveling with two brilliant women who just so happen to be my best friends, I am also blessed with meeting interesting people during the trip. Don't get me wrong, we each have our own voice and are equally adventurous, but while on our endeavors I always seem to be lucky enough to find and open up to the most fascinating people.

Yesterday for example, while Haylee and April ordered our lunch from a hotdog stand I decided to save an open bench in the town square. When an older gentleman asked to sit beside me I could not resist the opportunity to converse with an actual European.

As he and I began to chat in broken English I learned that not only was he Dutch, but in fact he used to live 50 meters from the Anne Frank house! He soon exploded into a cultural lesson ranging from why different countries still hate one another, to describing how he has watched Amsterdam change over the years. He even taught us how to spot the differences between a Dutchman and a German. Needless to say, chatting with the man was an indescribably awesome experience that none of us will ever forget.

April and Haylee have always made fun of me for asking people where they are from. That is what I love about people though. I love to hear them describe their homeland. I love to see their faces light up as they try to tell me where it is on a map. I love having something to relate to and learn more about.

"Thanks for sharing a bench with us!" I smiled as we began to walk away. 

"Bench? We call this a sofa."

"Well then, thanks for sharing the sofa with us," I grinned.

As we walked away from the man on the sofa I realized that as much as you try to admire a city (learning its history, soaking up its culture, etc.) you can't fully experience it until you talk to a native. Because that is where the culture and the charm and the love is.

Through the language barrier he described Amsterdam as a "hippie city". In all honesty, I could not have described it better. Amsterdam is beautiful and complex and unlike any place I have ever been before. When traveling it's easy to get caught up in the "must-see" sights that the Travel Channel and guide books recommend. What a shame it is for tourists to miss out on the true beauty of a place - its people.

Van Gosh!

Written by Lindsey

This morning April, Haylee and I woke up and headed out the door by the crack of noon. Between the bus from hotel to Shiphol, train to Amsterdam, and the tram through Amsterdam it took us about two hours to get to the museum district. While on the train we met a feisty and very flamboyant Kenyan gay man who kept asking passengers "where the f*** are you from?" and "don't I look gorgeous?" He kept kissing our hands and saying "oh you're from the U.S.? OBAMMMMA!" I found him highly entertaining and could not stop giggling, but I could tell April and Haylee had enough of him by the time we arrived at Central Station.

Like I said, we took a tram to the museum district but were immediately driven into a teeny tiny café by a torrential downpour. Small Talk Café literally had nothing on the menu we could afford except for soup and a cheese tray. But, it was shelter from a cold and sopping wet rainstorm and served piping hot coffee.

After the rain let up we headed toward Rijksmuseum where we checked out very old and important pieces of history. We left thinking "what is the point of having nice things displayed in a museum and why did we pay for it?" Obviously we'll never understand the the importance of preserving this kind of history.

Around 6:00 p.m. we visited the Van Gogh Museum which featured hundreds of his paintings. As I was searching for the most famous ones I knew (Sunflowers, Self-portrait, etc.) when I suddenly stumbled across Bedroom in Arles. I literally almost started crying in the middle of the exhibit. I remember mimicking this painting in elementary school with my own room in art class. I remember my art teacher, Mrs. Stevens, explaining the techniques that Van Gogh used and why they were influential. Never in a million years did I think that I would be standing in front of the original, tearing up in its presence.

Later we visited the Albert Heijn supermarket where I bought lunch supplies (i.e. GIANT baguette) for the rest of the week. We hopped back on the tram, hopped off at a random stop and watched a group break dance. Haylee and April soon found dinner and bought sandwiches from FEBO. FEBO can be described nothing less than fabulous because it takes vending machines to an entirely new level. It is comprised of a gigantic wall with little compartments that hold various sandwiches and sides in it. All you have to do to get the food is dispense money in the correct slot and BOOM-- there's your food. We found out that FEBO has over 60 shops in the Netherlands and 22 in Amsterdam alone. We've counted three so far.

We finished the night in the hotel with a Heineken, Skyping Haylee's mom, and watching England beat out Sweden 3-2.

Pictures coming soon!

This Blog

Wednesday morning two of my best friends and I arrived in Amsterdam. This is a blog documenting our experiences as we travel to Leipzig, Germany to study journalism this summer. Follow us as we dare to try new food, explore old cities, and embrace an entirely different culture.