Amsterdam

"Snap, Crack! BOOM! Grumble... grumble... grumble... shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh... snap, Crack! BOOM! Grumble... grumble... grumble..."

So we were nothing short of riders on the storm on our way into the Netherlands, as a torrential squall had moved in from the outer fjords. For the second time this trip we found ourselves in a listing vessel midst a sea of thunder and lightning, and our Dutch greeter came with roadside lightning and veritable waterfalls cascading from the darkening sky. We turned every which way, but it was inescapable, and traffic on the highway came to a complete stop. Visibility was literally zero. It defined "intense".

Onward we pushed past Amsterdam -- the most overpriced city in the World -- and into quaint, little Haarlem. What a gem decision that wound up being! Haarlem was disgustingly adorable and the hotel we found for cheeeaappp on a last minute deal website, was smack in the central plaza with wall-sized windows that opened up to the cathedral clock tower that is Haarlem's centerpiece. It's good we found it for cheap, because nothing else in Holland is, and we returned to our supermarket snackery ways, with one, kingly meal in a vibrant and family-owned Italian kitchen (possibly the best meal of the trip), complete with active puppy and a newborn cure for Ali's baby-deprived arms.

We strolled the streets and canals of Haarlem, passing between the quintessential Dutch buildings and plazas, stopping for our espressos, beers and regional deserts. We crossed bridge after bridge, and then the same bridges again without ever really noticing, and never really caring, and feasted on Dutch bread and tried to keep clear of the rain.

There were options for Amsterdam -- train or bicycle -- so we rented bicycles, because, well you know, this is Holland, and off we set on the 18km ride between quaint and metropolis. We got a little lost, we stopped so Ali could pet cows; the countryside, while being under gray clouds, was a shade of green reserved only for Holland and we biked through many little villages that sparsely populate the way.

Into Amsterdam, Ali was awestruck. I had tried to prepare her for its grandeur, but there really was no effective way. Straight in, we stopped in Damrak and ate our lunch on the steps of the statue there. The active square where Jenna once ran a cancer benefit was now housing the Homeless Cup soccer tournament. Classy. We people watched, had a beer and then visited Anne Frank House. If you haven't gone, go. If you have, then you'll understand Ali's three-day solemnity that followed us out of there. Upon leaving, distressed, she was hardly bike-ready, but she trooped it up and off we set. We rode the canals, took in the beauty, more beer, pictures when the rain allowed, fueled Ali's intense fascination with the Red Light District (she was like a kid at Disneyland for the first time), Ali hit a car with her bike and fell off it and scraped her knee... it was a tough day for her, but she's a tough gal and she fought through it with the strength of a Dutch rower.

Our bike back proved to only improve the day's "eventfullness". It rained. It was dark, chilly, we were on bikes and it rained. Moreover, it was 11pm and we had just spent a whole day in Amsterdam, and Ali's knee was burning in pain with every pedal stroke for 18km. But, we made it (obviously), returned our bikes, and strolled back to the hotel for a long night's sleep; but, not before we made a detour through the previously unseen, tiny red light district of Haarlem and its amazing 65 year old prostitute that made me shutter. It was disturbing; it was amazing -- hell, it was the Netherlands! And it wasn't the last we would see of it...