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.