Wake Up

Should Jesus have the time, he would whisper in my ear that Easter was to be spent lounging at a café next to the canal soaking up the sun.  He would also insist I read, write and drink Belgian beer.   Since Jesus seems to be tied up with resurrection and ascension business, I went ahead and came up with that winning Easter plan all by my lonesome.   

I started the day with a symbolic resurrection of the #1 and only, Buddy, my road bike.  It had been 6 months since I took her out last, and this time I caused an injury.  We went on a ride to Haarlem which is about 10 miles away (I won’t bother remarking on how distant this Haarlem is from the one settled by the Dutch in NY.  That would only make me homesick).  In my excitement for the adventure, I frantically departed sans map and mobile which I knew would result in tragedy.    And sure enough, almost exactly half way through the ride (in Halfweg…a cleverly named city half way between Amsterdam and Haarlem.  No kidding), I got my first ever flat tire.  Without any kit or clue on how to fix it, I plowed ahead, ruining the rim and making a big racket cycling home.  So Buddy won’t be ascending anytime soon, but I am still quite proud of myself for getting the sassy girl out for a ride without feeling like I was going to vomit in fear.

Over the past week I have also risen from the hibernation I’ve languished in since arriving back to Amsterdam in January.   Following 4 months spent in darkness, feeling thankful when I could drag myself out of bed by 7 AM, instead of my usual 6:30AM jog, I convinced myself that the decades long fitness passion was just a phase.  My new hobby was sleeping and I spent hours and hours practicing.  Couple that with a diet of limitless lekker Dutch bread and even tastier Dutch cheese, and I had managed to put on a good 5 (errr so…) pounds.

Part of the problem was the realities of winter, but the other issue was the reality of work.  Working in an office is incredibly unhealthy, and this isn’t just a hypothesis.  I am a leader in the Division of Health and Wellness, so I know.  A sedentary lifestyle spent before computer screens that blink constant problems at weary workers is, by definition, unhealthy. 

My worst work symptom is searing leg pain that makes it difficult for me to walk properly, and you can forget about running.  I’ve tried taking lots of pain killers to reduce the pain, but only Dutch cheese, bread and beer seem to help.

I needed a change, and so I found myself back in Spain.   It was my third trip to Spain this year - which reminds me, Spain is a great place to travel.  It has lots of convenient airports, super sippy wine, friendly sun, and you can pretend to speak the language. 

Still, I was hesitant about this trip because I went on the exact same vacation one year before.  Repeating a trip in a country I had been to countless times, when there is so much in the world I haven’t seen, seemed like a mistake.  But have no fear!  This trip was just as good the second time around.

I went back to fitness camp in a small town outside of Malaga.  I highly recommend it for anyone who wants to get some more spunk and a lighter, fitter step.

Here’s how a typical day at Fitness Fun Camp goes:

7:30AM:  Body Balance  A cringe-worthy Clif’s note version of Yoga and Tai Chi set to Top 40 music.  Don’t expect to find your spiritual self at a fitness camp run by an ex-military British guy.

8:30AM:  Breakfast.   This was the most tempting of all meals because a naughty buffet loaded with jamon, cheese, eggs and cream filled pastries sat next to the plain yogurt, fruit and porridge that we were allowed to eat.  Should you dare to sneak a treat from the other buffet, a trainer would discover it and scold you like a child.   

9:30 AM Bike ride or a hike in the Spanish hills.  I am very proud to say that I have drastically improved  my cycling skills since last year.  The trainers remembered me as the girl who kept falling off her bike and this year I felt like a pro – no problemo! 

12:45PM:  Back for a lovely lunch of soup and salad with controlled amounts of protein, and you can forget about carbs.  I tried to order whole grain bread one day and it never came….the trainers took it off my order. 

1:30 PM:  Lunch inevitably ended with a short debate between enjoying coffee with soy milk or getting your slightly slimmer butt to the lounge chairs by the pool.  I always ended up at the pool.  This is one of the great things about fitness vacation – you work yourself so hard that you deserve every single moment of lounging in the sun and every single calorie of food you enjoy.

3PM:  SMR (never heard of it?  Try it.  It’s a life changer if you have any muscle pain in your back or legs.  And it’s cheap and easy!)  Circuit training and stretching

6 pm Massage with Maria whose hands have been trained to find every muscle you don’t want her to.  Then she digs in. 

7:30PM  There was a dramatic count down to dinner that ended when the first course arrived.  After working out 6 hours in one day, dinner cannot come too soon.  Thank the heaven’s for the delicious 2 courses of soups, fish, chicken and lots of grilled veggies.

9PM  Collapse into your bed.  Go ahead and pop as many over the counter sleeping pills you feel is safe, you won't fall asleep.   By this point your body is so confused it remains on alert, just in case you decide to go for a 3 mile swim in the middle of the night.  

Wake up in the morning and repeat.

Fitness fun camp was even better this year because I went with a friend.  We decided to make it an annual Springtime event.  Not only did we both get a tan, lose a couple of pounds and inches off our waists, but we also got a kick in the pants to get going for the summer.  I really loved it.

Plus, thanks to Jesus and fitness camp, I am content, drenched in sun by the canal drinking Belgian beer...

PS the photos are all from last year, everything looked and tasted the same.  I appreciate reliability.

Chris...ty....Kris...ti.

After a pleasant stay in the land of my ancestors, I realized how comforting it was to be surrounded by ‘my people,’ not only because they were quiet and left me alone, but mostly because they didn’t pressure me into riding a single gear bike in gale force winds.  This feeling of relief evaporated upon returning to Amsterdam when I was faced with getting home by bike while dragging a rolling suitcase. 

I don’t have a clue how the Dutch carry cumbersome objects while cycling, but they appear to delight in it with as much enthusiasm as people picking scabs.  Whether it’s a random kid thrown on the back, a heavy piece of wooden furniture, or in my situation, a suit case, it is an enjoyable pain.

During this first (and please Dutch masochists..last) attempt at cycling with a suitcase I stopped every kilometer to adjust the handle and change tired hands, dry the sweat from my brow, and remind myself that taking a cab was not an option.  This made me bitter, not only because I was tired, but mostly because it appeared that I was the only person not enjoying this cycling experience.  I like to think of myself as being tough.

As miserable as I was, I concentrated on exuding a sense of stubborn confidence while I rode.  I was careful to avoid eye contact with anyone in fear they would realize my Innerself hated this goddamned cycling convenience.  Instead of whistling like the rest of the Dutchies, I was fantasizing about a NYC taxi cab that would magically appear at the upcoming corner of Phlegmfuckingracht and transport me in warm comfort to the door of my apartment.  Unlike the taxi men in Amsterdam, this driver wouldn’t speak English, requiring no need for pleasantries, and the meter would start at $2.75 instead of 7 euros 50. 

I don’t want to dwell on unrealized dreams or how my mind eventually went to a very sad and sick place where the idea of driving in London sounded appealing.  That’s not the point of this story.  The moral of this story is that sometimes experiencing new things isn't good and you need to comfort yourself with familiarity.  

And so I spent the following two weekends with friends who are not only American, but share my same name.  First, a weekend in Prague with Kristi followed by a weekend in Amsterdam with Kris and Chris. 

I had been to visit Kristi in Prague before, but I don’t remember much.  There are several photos of us drinking absinthe cocktails with gigantic straws out of buckets, and although I’m sure that was fun, this time I made the responsible decision to see some of the sights.  And get a massage.

The half marathon was on, so Kristi and I decided to dress the part.

The weather was fantastic, sunny and warm.  

Next up was a visit from not one, but TWO K/Chris’!!  And they’re dating – now imagine how easy that arrangement is?  They flew in from Italy and brought some sun to The Netherlands.  We gave Keukenhof (the famous place of the tulips) a trial run and boy am I glad we did.  We also took pictures of my brother in law’s new hats (don’t get too excited, Tim! It will take time to ship them over. ) 

Not to brag, but this is my very own tulip garden...

I'm proud of it!

What could be more comforting than wearing a One Piece and  Norwegian Hat with Horns?  I know!  Wearing it with Kris who is wearing Tim's Czech hat.  I expect a Chevy Chase Spies Like Us remix over the 4th of July...no pressure.

The Chris/Kris'!

And with that I decided I could keep on with this foreign life.  Next stop - Spain.

Up Nort!

 My visit to Oslo seems like ages ago, but it’s only been a month since I visited.  It is amazing what few memories stick in the human brain over a period of 30 days.  I do remember that I practiced Proactive Ignorance while I was in Oslo.  I created this special method of being just for this trip which involved ignoring all concepts of currency and exchange rates (this was not a stretch for me).  Too many friends, guidebooks and blogs had warned me of how expensive Oslo was and I didn’t want it to rain on my Norwegian parade.   

I actually spent most of my time in Oslo walking around in the city, so it wasn’t an expensive trip (Frankly, I don't really know, but that's the beauty of Proactive Ignorance).  Which reminds me - Oslo is a wonderful walking city!  And most people looked like this while they were walking:

I have never seen so many high end strollers, cross country skis, and sleds in my life.  It was astonishing.  But not as astonishing as the naked people.

There were an awful lot of naked statues in Oslo.  When I passed statues of people with clothes on it was startling.  I don't have an issue with the nakedness but I’m confused why this would be featured in such a freaking cold place.   

It struck me immediately how much Oslo reminded me of home (home being Wisconsin).  My forefathers and mothers could not have picked a place more similar to the snowy pine and white birch filled country they came from.  But I will say there were some differences.  Like it was really difficult to find pickled herring and lefse in Oslo (I never did find lefse).  Despite growing up with these Norwegian staples in America, it appeared that the Oslosians had turned away from them.  This was a real bummer and I went on a massive hunt for herring.  I finally found it at a touristy place where I ordered The Norwegian Sampler.

Most of this 3 tiered platter did not make it into my stomach because I thought it was - how should I say? - disgusting.  Somewhere between the herring, reindeer sausage and creamed beets, my mouth refused to open and my hand refused to move.  I sat staring at what probably cost 40 bucks (yay for proactive ignorance!) thinking there is no way in hell that is going in my mouth.  

But I still enjoyed my dining experience because it was silent.  The thing about Norwegians is that they don't talk much, and when they do, it's quiet.  It was so quiet in this particular restaurant that I was afraid to take a bite of flat bread because it was going to be the crunch heard across Oslo.  So I sat and stared at the reindeer sausage and creamed beets instead.

Norwegians aren't only famous for their peculiar food, but also their interesting dress.  And the latest Norwegian fashion craze is the OnePiece.  I haven't exclaimed my undying love for OnePieces enough lately- and so I shall exclaim it now.  I LOVE MY ONE PIECE.  It makes me happy!  And in case you hadn't heard, OnePiece was dreamed up by a couple of young Norwegian geniuses who realized, as they were lying around completely hungover on a Sunday afternoon, that wearing sweat pants was high pressure.  It suggested you should go for a run and the elastic waste put unnecessary pressure across your tummy.  And so they created the OnePiece (WHICH I LOVE...I LOVE IT!) and they have their very own Concept Store on the major shopping street in Oslo.

Me in a OnePiece - They're even more amazing than they look!

Lime green is hot in Oslo too, just slightly different fashion than Ghent.

I'll finish this up with a look at the brave men defending the country of Norway.  If only they thought to wear a OnePiece, they would be far happier.

Notice that it is pretty much empty.  I felt like the only tourist in Oslo.

I think they might have been 16, but black hair got in the way and I couldn't be sure.

The waterfront - it was really cold in Oslo.

And as I was leaving Oslo, I laughed at airport billboard:

What Norwegian in their right mind would choose to fly to NOVA SCOTIA on holiday?  I mean, sure, it might be closer than you think - but so is the Carribean.  Maybe they just like staying Up Nort.  Oof duh!