Some of the here, some of the now.

I've been stateside for three months now. Updates?

The play. I had the privilege of acting alongside some of my dear friends in Noel Coward's Hay Fever.

The wedding. My baby brother married Avery on May 19.

The chillin'. I loved hanging out with my Vermillion buddies. Then I got home, organized my room and spent some time in the Hills, hiking and biking and whatnot.

The job. It starts June 18. I'm going to be a fitness instructor at a camp in CA. I am excited, indeed.

Adjustment.

I feel a little silly. Back here. I'm here, and everything was as it was when I left -- it feels like I didn't leave at all. And if it weren't for the physical proof -- the museum ticket stubs, the train schedules, the pictures -- I would have a hard time believing I was actually there.

So now. Do I keep writing this thing or not? It seems that interest has waned, and no wonder -- things are bound to be less exciting now that I'm holed up in snowy Vermillion.

But I'm determined to pick them up again soon. I'm not sure where I'll be going or what I'll be doing in the next few months, but it'll be something fun and maybe even something worth reading about. I'll debate awhile, and probably either keep blogging here, or I'll start a new one. Unless you, reader, are totally disinterested. Then there's not much point.

Where the deer and the antelope play.

After 13 hours in planes and about 10 more hours waiting for planes, I made it back to Rapid City.

I could launch into how weird this feels, but I'll spare you for now, at least until I get my thoughts organized.

On Saturday evening, I cried my way to Tilburg after saying good bye to the family. Ruud and I went out with a bunch of his friends -- because it was Carnaval! I'll get some pictures up in a few days. We had a great time, and rolled home around 3:30 -- pretty early, by Carnaval standards.

On Sunday we went to the parade. It started at 1:00, but it didn't get to our spot on the street until almost 3:00. It was over around 5:00, but the party on the street was just gearing up. There were so many people, young and old alike, drinking and having a great time. There was a DJ right across the street from us, so even though we were outside, we had to yell to be heard during conversations.

On Monday I repacked, trying to guess how heavy my suitcases were. I ended up leaving a lot of stuff behind for Ruud to bring when he visits this summer.

On Tuesday we woke up at 5:30 and drove to the airport in Brussels so Ruud could get back in time for work. And I was off.

And here I am. In America. Weird.

I suppose in the end the thing that makes one like a place is one's affection for the people one knows there.

On Saturday, I said good-bye to my family.

We had a party for me. It was small but perfect -- all the right people where there: Oma and Opa, Cees and Martine and Ties, Rens and Eefje, Lieke, Ruud, Bas, Rik, Willem, and Stefan, Carley (who is back visiting for Carnaval) and of course the kids. Notable absences were Harrie and Toos, who had already left for their vacation, and Lieke's Willem, who was playing in a tennis tournament.

We talked, ate Chinese, indulged in the chocolate fountain. Ed was my first good-bye. Easy enough, because he doesn't know what's going on.

Kate was a toughie. My little Kate, my sweet bear, mijn beste meisje, especially during these last few weeks. She suddenly got really tired, started crying and screaming, and wanted little to do with me at the time -- she was just begging to go to bed. She refused to hug me, even. Tragic. So after Carien put her in bed, I hurried up there, hoping to still catch her awake.

I've spent the last few weeks talking about my leaving, knowing that it would be a difficult concept for her to grasp and remember. But everytime I talked about it, she got quiet and sad, then asked if I was taking a vliegtuig to Amerika.

She was still awake when I got up there, so I went in and sat on her bed. She was still recovering from her crying fit. I told her I just wanted to say good-bye, because I was leaving that night and wouldn't get to see her again for a long time. She started crying and trying to scramble out of bed. "Ik ook mee!" she kept saying: "I'll go, too."

I paused to compose myself before rejoining the party.

Then it was Pete and Carl. I went to read them a story. There was a small fight, which I won't get into, but it resulted in Carl going to his bed and me reading a story only to Pete. He paused me halfway through:

"Are you going to cry when you get home?"

"Ja, schat, I'm pretty sure I will," I said. "I'm going to miss you."

Then, so quiet, so sincere and vulnerable and perfect, he said, "I'm going to miss you, too." And he started crying.

I held him a while, said I'd come back to visit, but it just wasn't enough. So I told him I'd call him next Saturday when they get home from their ski vacation, and I'll ask for him and pretend to be one of his girlfriends from school. That made him laugh. He told me I had to do it in Dutch.

Carl came over, wanting to be read to after all. We finished the book. I tucked Pete in, then went to Carl's room where he was curled up on the bed. He ignored me when I spoke and kept covering his head -- typical for when he's upset. I told him I'd miss him. He didn't say anything. I told him if he ever wanted to send me a message, to just tell the constellations and they would bring it to me the next night. I suggested going through Orion. He spun around immediately.

"Does that work real?"

"We'll have to try it."

Good night. Good-bye.

Then it was good-bye to Rick and Carien -- my bosses, my co-workers, my friends. So many thank yous. So many tears.

As Ruud drove me away, I looked back to the big window where I had sat with the kids many times, teaching Ed how to wave good-bye to whomever was driving away to work -- and there were Rick and Carien, waving good-bye to me.

I couldn't stop crying.

13 Months of Details

THE TRAVELS

Number of countries visited: 15

Longest train ride: 13 hours (Utrecht to Warsaw)

Longest wait in a train station: 7 hours (Warsaw)

Most expensive flight: $751 (Amsterdam to Omaha, NE)

Least expensive flight: 6,00 euros -- 20,00 euros after tax (Glasgow to Amsterdam)

Favorite cities: Zagreb, Dublin, London, Innsbruck

Favorite paintings: The Lion Hunt, Peter Paul Rubens (National Gallery, London), The Execution of Lady Jane Grey, Paul Delaroche (National Gallery, London), For the Road, Jack Yeats (National Gallery, Dublin), La Chasse aux Lions, Eugene Delacroix (Musee d'Orsay, Paris), Origin of the Milky Way, Jacopo Tintoretto (National Gallery, London)

Favorite museums: Torture Museum (Prague), National Gallery (London and Dublin), MUMOK (Vienna)

Favorite chocolate museum: Barcelona

Favorite purchases: photo album (Krakow), boots ('s-Hertogenbosch)

Best vantage points: Artist's Sit (Edinburgh), Alps (Innsbruck)

Best scenery: Alps (Innsbruck), train ride from Budapest to Zagreb

Favorite books read: Lamb, Angela's Ashes, Made in America

Favorite new food: fuejoada

Least favorite new food: pig face

Best eating experience: Poland

Favorite nightlife experience: live reggae and dancing (Dublin)

Best theatrical productions: Phantom of the Opera (London), The Cut (London), Night of the Iguana (London)

Most meaningful experience: Auschwitz

Best castle: Edinburgh

Favorite shopping experience: Great Market (Budapest)

Number of strangers proposing marriage: 7

Number of new shoes (in pairs, flip flips included): 8

Number of visitors from the USA: 6 (Drew, Jack, Joel, Shauna, Megan, Rick's Mom)

Number of strangers' homes I stayed in: 12

Number of times I walked home from Den Bosch instead of waiting for the bus: 9

Second stupidest moment: First of all, there are two kinds of stupid. There's poor judgment stupid, which we're not going to get into. And there's embarrassing stupid. The top embarrassing stupid moment we're also not going to get into. So, the second stupidest moment is when I got fined on the train. It was a short ride from Tilburg to Den Bosch -- about 15 minutes. I had gotten up early, right after Ruud left for work, and was in a hurry to get home and start my day. I wanted to limit the time I would have to wait for the bus, so knowing buses leave around 25 minutes after the hour, I wanted to take a train that would get me there just before then. My best option was the one leaving at quarter till 9:00. I rushed out the door, hurried and bought my ticket, and hopped onboard. I have a discount card, which gives me 40% off the price of domestic tickets....except before 9:00 am. I was in a hurry. So I wasn't thinking about the time in terms of what hour it was, just how many minutes before that hour it was. Sometimes the ticket guys don't check. Today they did. He was in our car minutes after departure. At that point I still hadn't realized I had done anything incorrectly. I handed him my ticket. He said something in Dutch, which I didn't understand, and told him as much. He pointed to the time, and said it's too early. I about fell over. After buying the normally priced ticket (4,20 or something) and paying the fine (35,00), my 2,00-euro, 15 minute trip cost me a total of more than 40,00. The train was stopping in Den Bosch just as the ticket man was giving me my change.

Worst idea: We'd better not get into that, either.

Favorite moments: There are dozens, hundreds, but here are a few. The backyard barbecue in Segovia, fuejoada night in Edinburgh, first day alone in London, wine drinking with Carien in Kirchheim, lip sync contest with the whole family in Kirchheim, the drive to Paris, climbing trees in Hoge Veluwe, Sinterklaas, dancing to reggae in Dublin, Auschwitz, poker with Marcin and Patrick in Warsaw, the cow hunt in Lisbon, dancing in Barcelona, the first time I recognized a painting by Rubens without seeing his name, talking with Kruno and Neven till 5:30 am...




THE KIDS

Scariest moments: Pete falling from the tree, Ed falling from his high chair

Angriest moment: Pete spitting at me

Number of times I considered taking the next flight home: 3 (pretty good, considering I was here for 13 months)

Biggest boo-boo: shrinking Carien's clothes in the dryer

Best moments: kids waking me up on my birthday and before they left for California, Carl winning his bike race, the treasure hunt, Christmas Eve, Kate going through a phase where she would run to meet me every time I came up the driveway after a walk or run, Kate begging me to do yoga with her, Ed falling asleep on my chest, long conversations with the older boys about constellations, natural disasters, and cows, the millions of funny things they say, all the rare nights when the boys did as they were told and we had fun getting ready for bed, reading to them, giving them presents...

Number of diapers changed: approximately 4.2 million

Paris!

Our trip to Paris was a success. There was plenty of food and walking. We even managed to shop for an entire day. And Ruud liked it. He really did. He bought a tie and some socks.

Since we have both been to the top of the Eiffel Tower, we opted instead to go to the top of the Arc d'Triomphe, from which the world looks like this:

We also happened to witness a proposal. We went to the Louvre, of course (Mona is looking as lovely as ever) and the Musee d'Orsay, which houses a magnificent collection of works by French artists.
On Monday we left early and stopped in Gent, Belgium for a few hours. We wanted waffles, which were actually sort of hard to come by at this time of year. We wandered until we found the castle near the hostel where I stayed when I was in Gent eight years ago. I have now re-visited all the cities I saw on my first trip to Europe. And just in time.

Drinking and other habits.

My European lifestyle helped me to adopt the following habits, for better or worse.

* Wine.

* Tea.

* Coffee (well, good cappuccino or coffee with milk at a ratio of 1:5, but we're working on it).

My liquid intake is still largely made up of water, but it now also includes those things, which I rarely (and in coffee's case, practically never) included at home. But now probably will.

In addition:

* Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every day at lunch. It was born out of necessity, as my other option was meat and cheese every day at lunch, and that I definitely don't like. I've always liked PB&J. I still do. I just don't really want to eat another one for a long, long time.

* Television. Throughout my life, I haven't watched very much. At home before I left, my only real television craving was Reno 911! and the occasional Will & Grace. Indeed, the first two weeks I got here I didn't even turn on the television in my room -- it just never occurred to me to do so. Then, one night, lying there sick and bored out of my mind, I thought, "Ah, television, it will help me learn Dutch." So I turned it on, and found that it was made of approximately 90% English shows. But I kept at it, and gradually grew to love Grey's Anatomy, Law and Order, CSI: New York, America's Next Top Model, and any movie of the week they want to offer up. Luckily, as an actor and continual student of theatre, I get to call such habits "research." I still feel somewhat guilty, though, because it wastes a lot of time. This is one habit that's going to go. Except for maybe Grey's Anatomy.

* Boring workouts. I don't even know how that happened. I just want a gym, for heaven sake. And that I will have, so very soon, and my workouts will be boring no longer.

* Nice dinners. I used to more or less hate restaurants, because I hated to spend a great deal of money on food that was usually just so-so. I would always order soup. I liked it, and it was cheap. Not anymore. I'm really starting to appreciate good food. I admire stylish presentation. I delight in lingering at the table for as long as we want, without having to worry about the waiter trying to rush us out. I also delight in cooking nice dinners. After making pasta about 200 times for picky kids, it feels good to make something that includes actual spices and doesn't involve a noodle.

* Staying in. It's not unusual for a friend to have to talk me into getting out of my pajamas and joining them at the bar, but I would usually do it. Of course, the bar was in walking distance, or I could drive myself if I wasn't planning to drink. Here, if I'm not in Tilburg with Ruud, the bar is several miles away, and the trip home almost always involved a taxi. Plus, we never even went out until 11:00 pm or so. By then, if I'm not going out, I'm in bed. So I grew accustomed to going to bed early, even more so than I used to. Friends, help me.

* Flossing. I'm not sure where that one came from, as I've been anti-floss (it totally disgusts me) for as long as I can remember. But one evening, about two weeks ago, I pulled a strand from the little container and began what I can only call a flossing habit. My dentist will be so proud.

Do you speak English?

In the past year, I have put that sentence into use in the following ways:

Spreekt u engels?

Sprechen sie Englisch?

Czy pan mowi po angielsku?

Govorite li engleski?

Habla ingles?

Fala ingles?

Mlutite anglicky?

Parlez-vous anglais?

Beszel angolul?

Ali govorite angleshko?

These feelings are normal.

The other day I hauled my sheets into the house to wash them. I usually do laundry when I'm home alone and the older kids are at school, so it's entirely possible that Pete has never seen this happen. But the other day, they were all home, and he watched me lug them in.

"Did you pee your bed?" he asked.

For the record, "No."

"Then why you wash that?"

And these are the things I will miss when I go. Which is horribly, painfully soon. Especially for the family, considering they have not yet found my replacement.

They were close just a couple of days ago. Even I had approved of Ali, even though I was jealous of her, and she seemed eager to come. But then we got an email from her in which she explained that she just didn't think the pay was enough for the hours she would be working, and that another family has made her a very tempting offer.

It's unfortunate. But the joke's on her -- because whatever family she joins, there's no way her situation will be as good as this one. I want to laugh at her for that, even though I know that a to-be au pair in her position (which I was, just one year ago) can easily make that mistake.

So why am I leaving at all? I just got my schedule for the next two weeks, and I have five days off I didn't expect, as well as the four days I had requested in order to go to Paris. I delighted in that, as I have been delighting in it all year, and toyed around with all the trips I could take during those days if I weren't three weeks away from moving home.

So why am I leaving at all? I love not knowing when I might be rewarded with a break in my work week. I love the flexibility, the ever-changing schedule, the free time. I love not understanding conversations and making half-hearted attempts to learn Dutch. I love bicycles and canals and tulips. I love this family and their extended family and my silly Dutch boyfriend. I love the summer with its long days and casual feel. I love the little grocery store that somehow manages to have everything. I love shopping for shoes. I love to hate the train. I love cheap airlines. I love that working sometimes keeps me moving at 100 miles a minute and sometimes involves watching CSI while the kids all sleep. I love my living space. This is happy. This is ideal. This is familiar, safe, comfortable.

There. That. That's why.

The rest.

There were other things. Like:

* A contemporary art museum in Vienna with some of the best work I've ever seen on the top three floors, and the most disturbing work I've ever seen on the bottom floor.

* Snow in Prague.



* The torture museum in Prague. I know it's gross, but it's fascinating. Let me share. There was a technique called water torture in which the victim was strapped to a board with his/her belly raised up. Then a tube was shoved down the throat as far as it would go and water poured into it until the victim was horribly swollen. Then the torturer would beat on the victim's stomach with a stick. If no confession was obtained, the tube was yanked out of the throat and then reinserted and the process repeated. Most awful? This was considered "light" torture. Therefore, if such a torture did produce a confession, it was entered into court as a confession obtained without the use of torture. "The good ol' days," says Joel.

* Jack and Joel oversleeping and damn near missing their flight back to Amsterdam.

*

* More long walks. More cold weather.

* The Holocaust Memorial in Berlin. It was one of the best memorials I've ever been to because it's something you feel and experience, not just look at. You look at it, and it's a bunch of blocks. You walk through it, and you understand.

* Shopping at the Great Market in Budapest.

* Searching for a particular coffee house in Vienna for a long time on a cold night, finding it, and deciding it wasn't our thing after all. Okay, my thing. It wasn't my thing. That was me. I made us leave.

*

* The House of Terror in Budapest -- a museum that documents the Nazi and Soviet occupations of Hungary.

* Plum dumplings in Ljubljana.

* Watching Eraser Head.

* This dog in Budapest.

The long ride home.

I left Innsbruck on Friday night, having bought my ticket the day before. I had a reservation on the night train -- the lovely, lovely night train, where you close your eyes and wake up at home.

Turns out my train leaving Innsbruck was 30 minutes late -- and I had only 20 minutes between trains in Munich. No problem, said the guys at the info desk. The train manager can call ahead and ask them to wait 10 or 15 minutes.

But then the train was 40 minutes late. Then 50.

The train was freezing, so after about 20 minutes the manager told us we could move to first class because the heat wasn't working. I'd never sat in first class in a train before, and with good reason -- for a lot more money, there aren't many perks aside from a footrest and more leg room.

The train manager did call ahead. But then he came back and said, "The train..." and did a little wave of his arm to indicate "is long gone". Damn it.

So, I got to Munich and found out the next train headed in my direction left at 3:23 am. That's a four-hour wait in the Munich train station. I bought some coffee and hunkered down.

I got on the train, which took me to Duisburg in five hours. Luckily, I boarded a little early and spread my sleeping self out on two seats, so no one sat beside me even though the train got rather full. I didn't sleep much -- it wasn't the most comfortable -- although a laughing train manager did have to poke me in the leg at one point to get my attention.

Waited one hour in Duisburg for the train that would take me to Arnhem, where I could then catch a train for Den Bosch. If I had managed to catch my night train from Munich, not only would I have had a bed, but I also would have not had to stop in Duisburg.

But all's well that ends well, and things were well, aside from my being incredibly tired. And considering that's the most negative experience I had on my three week journey, I'd say that's pretty nice.

The hills are....oh, make it stop.

I arrived in Innsbruck after dark (it was six and a half hours by train from Ljubljana). My host, Phil, suggested we meet the next day at noon and he would let me know whether or not it was a good day to go up the mountain.

I awoke the next day convinced that it was not. It was so foggy that I couldn't even see a mountain. But I met him at noon. And he said, "Today's a perfect day to go up the mountain." Sure, it's foggy down here, but those beasts rise above that, and awaiting me up the hill is a glorious sunny day.

Hard to believe. But I got on the bus. And sure enough, even at the altitude to which the bus took me, it was sunny.



Warm, even. I rode the lift up to almost the top.

The Alps. Ohhhhh, the Alps.

People and places.

At one point in my life, not even so long ago, it would have seemed strange, almost horrifying, to me to visit a place and leave a few days later without having seen anything. Nowadays, it not only seems somewhat normal, but I'm also incredibly content with a visit that goes exactly like that.

I was in Croatia (Zagreb is one of my favorite places in the world and I don't even know why) on a Sunday and a holiday, so pretty much nothing was open. I went to the modern art museum and the opera and wandered around town a bit,





but other than that I just hung out with my amazing hosts, Kruno and Neven.



They threw a party in my honor.





We ate, we drank Croatian wine, we watched stand-up comedy. They bought me some burek, which is a Bosnian meat pie. I didn't want to leave.



But then I got to Slovenia where I stayed with Anja. We hung out at a bar with a friend of hers the first night. The next day we went to her university so she could make copies. The day after we went to the castle for about an hour. Other than that, we just sat around and talked. And talked. And talked. I miss her terribly. When I left it was like moving out of an apartment I had lived in for a while, like leaving a roommate I had known for years.

So what did I do in Croatia and Slovenia? Nothing. And it was the best time.

Unquotable.

On Jack's first night in Europe, he woke me up at 3:00 am to ask the all-important question, "How do you flush the toilet?" Three minutes later he came back in to ask, "Where is the light?" So began the list of the Trip's Best Quotes. For the sake of the stupid in all of us, I will leave them unattributed, except when attributing them makes them even more funny. At least to me.

"How do you flush the toilet?"

"Oh, I'm not doing that."

"I can't even stand to look at them anymore." (in reference to honey-roasted peanuts)

"It's gonna be a long time before I eat another sausage."

(three days later) "What's it take to get a sausage around here?"

"You sit on it, you eat it."

"To roll over that one night I had to get up, go outside, turn around, and go back in."

"I used the women's bathroom." (it goes without saying that I do this; therefore it should be obvious that I am not the one who said it)

"She was pretty cranky." (in reference to the woman in the women's bathroom)

"They shouldn't have them out there if they didn't want me to eat them."

"Just because you can fit 15 billion in China doesn't mean you can fit them all in a church."

"It was like a communion buffet."

"Berlin is quaint."

"Peanuts are my favorite thing to travel with. They go everywhere with me."

"I buried this little guy. Almost forgot I had him."

"I usually try to fall asleep with it out."

"Where's the flight station?"

"If that pigeon shits on me it'll be the last shit he ever takes."

"Jack and I are going to look for scarves." (Joel)

"Wrap it in bacon and throw it in the dehydrator."

"You can still get two more blows on it."

"Do you want to take your dress off for dinner." (woman at the table in the corner, we think to her daughter but there was a large column blocking our view)

"I bet you could put a lot of chili in that thing."

"Why do people only want to paint pictures of the little baby Jesus?"

And a Happy New Year!

Jack, Joel, and I rang in 2007 in Vienna.

We had a nice dinner with our hosts, Hanna and Philip, which Philip had prepared. We took part in an Austrian tradition: we melted a piece of lead in a spoon over a candle, then dropped the liquid into water. The idea is to interpret the shape into which it cools in order to determine your fortune for the new year. Hard to interpret, but a lot of fun anyway.

Eating and melting took a long time, so we had to hurry -- it was almost midnight. I'm not sure of the original plan, but we ended up dodging security cameras and hoisting ourselves onto the uppermost ledge of the roof of one of the taller buildings in the city.

Magic. We were surrounded by fireworks, far more than I've ever seen at even the most impressive 4th of July display. It was hard to decide where to look, so you just sort of ended up spinning around in circles. They had started early in the evening and gradually built up to this point and continued until about 15 minutes after midnight.

We sipped champagne, made our way to a couple of parties, and slept until mid-afternoon on New Year's Day.

But no worries. To Jack's delight, we woke up in plenty of time to go to the opera.

East and West.

Hard to believe those guys go home on Friday. The first part of this trip has gone so quickly.

I am here in Budapest with just a few minutes to spare, so I thought I would let you know that all is well.

But first, Berlin. If you know anything about Berlin, you know that it is huge -- eight times the size of Paris, according to my guidebook. Not walkable. We walked it. Our hosts lived way on the east side, but when our bus was not at the stop when we were ready to go, we decided to just keep on going. We did all the Berlin Wall business and took in a fantastic exhibit on the Nuremburg trials. The whole thing becomes all the more strange and horrifying when you break it down into individuals -- some of whom were at least claiming remorse, others who remained until the end convinced that they were doing what was right by their country, their people, and their God.

We only had one day in Berlin. It got added to the schedule when airline tickets there were cheaper and more convenient than the ones to Prague. We walked home that night intending to meet our hosts at a club, but I was too tired and Jack and Joel, left to their own devices, took a wrong turn and missed them altogether. They did not talk much about their night, but they did laugh about it quite a lot. I doubt I will ever know the whole story.

It was a two-hour walk to the train station, which we started before 6 am. The whole stay was so cold. Next time I take a trip in the winter, I am taking it south.

Prettige Kerstdagen.

The reception was a lot of fun. The wedding had taken place earlier in the day; just a small ceremony at city hall. I went to dinner with Ruud, his sister Lieke and boyfriend Willem, and his brother Rens and girlfriend Eevje. Then we went to the reception where I was way too tired to keep dancing by 2:00 am. We stayed at Ruud's parents' house in Helmond, and we all had breakfast together late on Saturday morning.





(Obviously, that picture is wishful thinking. We're actually more or less the same height.)

I came back here on Saturday and started packing. Shortly thereafter, I got a phone call from Jack: his flight got canceled and he won't be arriving until early Christmas morning. Disappointing for a plethora of reasons, but it could have been worse. At least he'll be in time for the flight to Berlin.

Then I woke up this morning to the news that Joel's flight was delayed, and he'll be arriving later than expected, though he should still be here in time to celebrate Christmas this evening.

Merry Christmas. If you're reading this, I probably love you and miss you and certainly wish you all the best.

Two month notice.

As you know, I'm leaving on Christmas. We're starting in Berlin and journeying on to Prague, Vienna, Bratislava, and Budapest before Jack and Joel go home, then I'm continuing through Croatia, Slovenia, and back up to Austria and, if there's time, Munich. Three weeks.

So, after Christmas, I'll be out of touch for three weeks. Then I'll have three weeks worth of fun times to fill you in on, and then I'll have to hurry and catch you up on the goings on here before I go home.

Yeah. Home home. My original home. The U.S. one. Maybe I'm premature in reporting on this, as I have spent the last four or five months changing my mind about my departure date at least every other day. Sometimes I'd change my mind several times within one day. I'm saying there's a chance I could change my mind again.

But that chance is growing slimmer. There are a million reasons to stay, but basically, what it comes down to is this: I've grown from this job as much as I possibly can. I've plateaued. Sure, the job isn't the only thing I do here, but it's my reason for being here. So if I want to be here, I need to find a new reason. It just feels like time to move on.

This decision wasn't arrived at lightly. It was a sleep-stealer. But now that I've made it, I feel good about it. My, my, it'll be nice to drive a car again.

It's the most wonderful time.

Jack and Joel are arriving on Christmas Eve. I have lots of shopping to do (I'm in charge of this Christmas dinner thing, which will likely involved bitterballen and casserole) and no time off work to do it, so we'll see what happens. Busy work week for this girl.

But first I'm going to a wedding -- Ruud's cousin Sjouke is getting married. Actually, we're not going to the wedding, which is a super-small event, but we're going to the reception. So, really, it's ideal.

Also, I should pack at some point, because Christmas Day marks the beginning of the long awaited journey Amanda, Jack, and Joel: From Bohemia to the Balkans. Of course, it has been somewhat adjusted since its titling. We're now starting closer to Bavaria, and Jack and Joel won't make it to the Balkans.

But you get the idea. This is very exciting indeed. I should know. I did all the planning.

De Efteling

I've seen commercials all year for De Efteling, a popular amusement park in the Netherlands. I didn't think much of going, because the ads were annoying and I didn't know where it was, anyway.

Turns out, it's very close to Tilburg. And though it closes after the summer, it re-opens right around this time for a few weeks -- De Winter Efteling. Ruud suggested going. So we did.



Fun day. Cold. Fake snow on the trees. A skating rink. (Ruud refused to skate.) Free ear muffs with purchase of soup. The bigger roller coasters weren't running -- apparently it's too dangerous to do so in cold weather -- but there were a couple of little ones and other nice things. We got on the first roller coaster just as it started raining, so it turned out to be a water ride. Ruud was not enthused.



The highlight was a 3D movie (did you know they still do those? I didn't) by the World Wildlife Fund or Federation or whatever the "F" stands for. The monkeys kept batting oranges at our faces until I couldn't handle it. I reminded myself not to flinch and laughed at the guy sitting in front of me who did.

White bicyclin', tree climbin', art appreciatin'.

Ruud and I spent Sunday at the national park, Hoge Veluwe, despite his being sick and my barely being over being sick. I wanted to go because they have a small wild boar herd. We saw no boars. I was unbearably disappointed, but still had fun biking through the park (though by nightfall my hands were so cold they didn't function properly), climbing trees, and checking out the art museum, which has a fantastic collection of Van Goghs.

Get out the vote.

With all the Thanksgiving, my birthday, and Sinterklaas excitement, I never got the opportunity to talk about our elections in the Netherlands, which took place on November 22.

There are 150 seats in the parliament, all of which had to be chosen. When you vote, you vote first for a party (there are dozens, 100s?) and then within that party you choose your candidate. The most important part of that vote is the party part.

The funniest part of it all is that there is a Party for the Animals. Their main concern for the country this year is the castration of pigs without any numbing agent. What about taxes, immigration, health care? "We have opinions on those, too, but they aren't our most pressing issues."

The Party for the Animals holds two seats in parliament.

December 5: Sinterklaas.

Yesterday was the long awaited holiday. Carien's parents (Maria and Cees) and her sister and brother-in-law (Martine and Cees) and nephew (Thies) arrived in the afternoon.

Around 4:00 pm, Maria got a phone call from Sinterklaas telling us that he had left some gifts for the kids outside in the camper. And, oh, is Thies staying with you tonight? Yes, yes he is. Okay, his are out there, too. The kids ran out and hauled in giant bags of gifts. Wow, I thought. That's a lot of presents. But I didn't know the literal half of it.

We had dinner -- pizza for the adults and french fries for the kids, all made by Carien -- and then we heard a loud knock on the door. Even I was surprised. Who was it? Two Zwarte Pieten with five large burlap sacks full of gifts!

(Spoiler: no, Zwarte Piet does not visit every house in the Netherlands on December 5. This was a visit arranged especially by Carien, and the first time such a visit has occurred at the Uptegrove home.)

The Pieten hung out with us for probably half an hour, throwing pepernoten all over the floor and handing out gifts.

The kids went to bed and we got to work on the wine -- and started playing our game. Here's how it went down:

8:30 -- Round 1, lasts 20 minutes. All gifts are in the middle of the circle; none of us have any. Each roll of the dice means something different.

1: Roll again.
2: Give the dice to the person to your right.
3: Nothing.
4: Skip the next roller.
5: Put one of your gifts back in the pile.
6: Take a gift out of the pile.

8:50 -- End of Round 1. I have three gifts.

9:00 -- Round 2, lasts 30 minutes. Some numbers on the dice mean the same thing as in the last round, but a key difference is that 4 is now Pick a Card (each of which contains instructions as to your play). Also, 5 now means you can take a gift from somebody else.

9:17 -- I roll a four and draw a card that says (in Dutch), "Put your leg over your head. If you can't do it, you must give one gift away." Ha HA! I CAN DO THAT!

9:30 -- End of Round 2. I am left with two gifts. We are now permitted to open whatever gifts are in our possession. I open them to find a chocolate letter (traditional gift from Sinterklaas, by the way) and a giant pair of tightie-whities, which still has Martine's husband cracking up.

9:45 -- Round 3, lasts 45 minutes. The stakes are high. Now all gifts are opened, but we still trade them around like mad, trying to get rid of the fuzzy pink heart mirror, the 100 tea lights, and the origami book, and trying to acquire the pasta kit, the bath set, the cookies. A couple of the rolls of the dice now mean different things again. The wine is changing hands frequently. My underwear are not in high demand. The key to keeping your gifts is to have the most undesirable ones.

10:07 -- I have accumulated seven gifts. I have passed the underwear along. The pasta and the wine are not in my possession, so my pile is largely ignored. Things are looking up.

10:29 -- I roll a 4. I draw a card requiring me to give all my presents away. I scream in agony.

10:30 -- End of Round 3. I am the only person with 0 gifts. But I have my wine. That's what I keep saying.

They took pity on the foreigner and I ended up with a few gifts after all. So much fun, presents or no. It's a game I intend to introduce in some form at some point with my stateside friends.

I went to bed around 2:00 am, but not before I watched them haul in five more sacks of gifts -- to leave in (read: under) the kids' shoes so they have something to find in the morning.

An early Sinterklaas.

Yesterday I went with Ruud to his brother's birthday celebration. It was a quiet one, just the immediate family and the family of his girlfriend, Eevje. It was an extra special day, because it also marked 12 1/2 years of togetherness for Rens and Eevje. 12.5 is a major anniversary here -- halfway to 25.

I made a peanut butter pie, which everyone loved except the birthday boy, who does not like peanut butter. Whoops.

After dinner, Eevje's family left and we celebrated Sinterklaas a couple of days early. Ruud had warned me that Sinterklaas had a few presents for me, too, so I was expecting one or two little things -- but I was in for a surprise. There were several gifts, simple but thoughtful: a photography book of Amsterdam, little Dutch souvenirs, a stuffed frog, reflector bands for running in the dark, candy canes, an electric toothbrush, a book by Bill Bryson (comedy writing about America), and a large Rolling Stones book.

Funny story. Two weeks ago, at Ruud's mother's birthday, she asked me what kind of music I liked. I said a little of everything, mostly rock/alternative. She asked me to name bands. I listed several, none of whom she'd ever heard of. Wanting her to understand the type of music I like, racking my brain for someone she'd know, I mentioned the Stones. Hence the gift.

Touched. Overwhelmed. I felt like I'd known them for years.

It was a special day, sitting around the fire, surrounded by the Dutch language and little snippets of English, understanding what I could and pretending through the rest, laughing just hard enough at the funny stuff -- not so hard that they would notice and ask, "You got that? What was it?" but hard enough that the whole conversation wouldn't stop so someone could explain it -- and celebrating a holiday I had never even heard of until this year with a family I barely know that went out of its way to include me.

Oh, there are these kids, too.

Yes, I still take care of four beautiful kids, whom you haven't read about in a while. The latest:

CARL

Still a handful, but lately he's obsessed with computer games so that provides excellent leverage for me. The threat of his computer priveleges being suspended is usually inspiration enough to get him to behave.

PETE

We're not on good terms today because he got mad and spit at me. My normally patient self flew off the handle and he went to bed at 7:00, cursing me all the way.

In adorable news, as I was doing Kate's hair this morning he said, "I think Kate is the prettiest girl in her whole school," and we exchanged a knowing glance. Actually, it probably is true.

KATE

Her behavior goes in phases. Lately, she says, "mijn papa" and "mijn mama" to me all the time, little reminders that...they're hers and not mine? I guess. Also, instead of getting mad and screaming when I chastise her, as she used to do, she starts crying and buries her head on my leg.

She goes to school two days a week and loves it. She won't eat her meal? She won't get out of the bathtub? She won't let you do her hair? "Well, I guess you can't go to school tomorrow, then." Problem solved.

She's speaking a lot better, too. Many more words and complex sentences, though they're not always understandable. My name has earned a one-syllable upgrade, from "Mah" to "Mah-na". Sometimes even "A-mah-na". She has adopted some of my language habits, and I, of course, love that.

The other day when I was reading to the kids, she kept looking up at me -- probably a total of 12 times -- the way that...well, the way that adults look at children when they're being adorable, and she would put her hand on my cheek and give me a kiss. Like, "Oooh, Amanda, you're so darn cute."

Yesterday she said, "Mah-na, yoga." She walked to the middle of the room and arranged herself in a flawless mountain pose -- big toes together, heels apart, everything. Precision. I have never been so proud.

She pooped on the toilet today. Twice.

ED

He's a year old and he already throws temper tantrums. When he smells food or sees food or realized you're thinking about food, he starts wailing. He likes to open cabinets and he knows he shouldn't, and when I catch him in the act he starts crying about it, but when I don't, he carries whatever he found in the cabinet over to me and smirks. He really smirks.

He's walking like a champ, of course, all over the place. He and Kate are best of friends and seem to speak each other's language. They laugh at each other constantly. And Kate manages to hurt him quite often, usually because she's loving him too much. Carl and Pete insist on picking him up and carrying him places, throwing him on the couch, stuff like that, despite my own insistance that they do no such thing.

ME

I made it to Rotterdam, finally, and took in their fantastic art museum as well as their shopping. I almost finished the Christmas project. Almost. It was a good day, Wednesday, even though I was in the process of getting sick, a process that started last Thursday, a process that continues to this day. Some days are better than others.

Tuesday is Sinterklaas, of course, so the excitement level is running high. I, too, am excited. There's this game the big kids play after the little kids go to bed. Carien explained it to me and I thought it might be something that just this family does, but I guess it's traditional throughout the Netherlands. More on that after the fact.

But before all that, Sunday is Ruud's brother's birthday party -- the second family birthday party to which I've been invited. Hopefully I'll be feeling better. It's just the immediate family this time, and they're celebrating Sinterklaas as well, so I've got to be on the A game.

Day 13 of the 25 Days of Amanda's Birthday

Day 13 is, of course, my actual birthday. It started at 7:30 am when Carl, Pete, and Kate pounded on my door bearing gifts. They sang to me in two languages. That's never happened before.

I was working all day, but Carien came back from her trip around 3:00 and I went off to get ready for the ball. I ended up just wearing the black dress I brought with me from home. I didn't think it would be formal enough, but it was better than buying a new one.

Ruud picked me up earlier than expected, but I was ready to go. We got on the bus with all the other ball-goers and traveled an hour and a half to the caves near Maastricht, where the event was held. We were there by 7:30, but dinner wasn't ready until almost nine.

By the way. There were a great many dresses more formal than mine, more "prom-like" which was what I expected -- but there were also a few like mine, and even so, I didn't feel out of place in the least. So, good news.

We ate, we drank wine, we sort of danced but there were a lot of people and not a lot of room. The band was nice -- I'm told they're one of the best cover bands in the Netherlands. Ruud's sister Lieke was with us, as well, and I met a lot of Ruud's friends. One of them was in New York a few weeks ago running the marathon. Another had spent a year in Minnesota -- his English was perfect.

We got home at 5:00 am. I'm still tired. I'm too old for this.

Happy Thanksgiving, belated.

We had a thanksgiving celebration here, though we had to do it a day early since Carien was leaving on a trip on Thursday. Carien's parents and sister were here, Megan came up from Maastricht, and Ruud came over after he got off work. Poor kid was pretty nervous, having never before celebrated thanksgiving. Do we give gifts? Do we sing? Do we have to talk about what we're thankful for? Nope. We just eat.

The highlight was that I made a pecan pie. I had never made one before, but it was awesome. My awesome pecan pie. It was super-dark, since we couldn't find corn syrup and I had to use a butterscotch syrup of similar consistency. I even nailed the crust. Perfection. Awesome.

Sinterklaas! Sinterklaas! en natuurlijk Zwarte Piet!

On Tuesday afternoon, we took the kids out of school and journeyed to Helmond to visit Sinterklaas at the castle.

We waited in line for about an hour, during which many of the Zwarte Pieten entertained us with juggling, bicycling, dancing, jumping rope, climbing, etc.





We also admired Americo, the horse on which Sinterklaas rode into town.



Once inside, we were led through several rooms by the Zwarte Pieten. There was the bedroom where the Zwarte Pieten sleep. We woke one of them up, poor fellow. He was the housemaster, and he showed us all the keys he's responsible for.



He led us into the dining room where he chastised two of the Pieten for playing a game while they should have been working.

We were led into the kitchen, where three Zwarte Pieten were hard at work making pepernoten -- bite-sized gingerbread cookies.



We saw the classroom, where Professor Piet was teaching a class of unruly Piets -- one of whom got in such trouble he had to leave the room.



Then we saw the man himself. He talked to all the kids and gave them each a little bag of pepernoten and other candy.

Voetbal en verjaardag.

Also on Saturday, Ruud and I went to a soccer game -- Eindhoven's PSV against Rotterdam's Excelsior. PSV won 4-0, which isn't unusual, I guess. They are consistently one of the best teams in the country. They have more money than a lot of the other teams, so they can hire better players. Simple as that. It was a great time -- I'd been wanting to go to a game for a while. Even better was that I got to use Ruud's dad's season ticket.

Then we went to Ruud's mother's birthday celebration in Helmond. There were many people there, about half of whom I had met in Germany, so it felt like home. Three people told me how they had looked up South Dakota on Google Earth.

6-8 Black Men

Read the David Sedaris chapter of that title, and you'll have a pretty good idea about this Sinterklaas holiday.

On Saturday, Sinterklaas, who looks much like Santa Claus but certainly is not, arrived in Holland. He took the boat from Spain with his many Zwarte Piets (translation: Black Piet), where he and his helpers, the Zwarte Piets, live all year. This event was televised. Live.

But the journey wasn't without its troubles. First, Sinterklaas landed in the wrong port. Then Zwarte Piet lost the big book with all the names of the children in the Netherlands. Carl cried.

Every night around 5:30, from now until December 5, we get a 30-minute televised update on Sinterklaas and the missing book.

Sinterklaas will be visiting all the towns in the Netherlands between now and the actual holiday (often many towns at the same time!), talking to the kids and gathering wish lists. On Tuesday we're going to the castle in Helmond, where he is staying for the next couple of weeks.

Knockin' 'em down.

I made it to Antwerp on Friday. They have the Rubens museum there, so I was a happy, happy art-museum goer. Other than that, I didn't do much -- shopped, admired diamonds, had lunch. The waiter offered to show me around Antwerp that night. Generous of him, hmm?

Instead, I went back to Ruud's and we made dinner. We were going to go to the national park (they have wild boars there! wild boars!) on Saturday, but it was raining so we chickened out. Biking around the wilderness isn't so much fun when you're soaked. So we went to Breda and watched Borat.

I have to find a dress. Only two weeks until the formal event.

There will always be a list.

Yes, there's a lot I still want to do. And it's really hard to find the motivation when it's cold outside. Biking to and from the train station and getting lost in large cities isn't so pleasant when it's freezing and you forgot your gloves.

So I put Antwerp off for today. Thought about going. It's just really cold. But the opportunities to do so are shrinking. I just thought about the amount of time I have left in terms of weeks. Yikes. Unless.....well.

Good things are coming. The 25 Days of Amanda's Birthday, for starters. A gala with Ruud. Sinterklaas. Rotterdam, Antwerp, and the national park, when I get around to them. Jack and Joel and a three-week (maybe four-week?) trip. Only two weeks for them. We start in Berlin on Christmas Day.

On the Go.

It's been a busy couple of weeks. I'm half-panicked at the thought of everything I still want to do and the very little time left in which to do it. Unless...well, who knows.

Last weekend was spent largely in Tilburg and Den Bosch with the fellow, eating nice dinners and defending my tennis abilities. Tomorrow there will be a movie, and I rather hope it's Little Miss Sunshine or The Departed. Other recommendations?

Then came Halloween. We celebrated in grand style, even though the Netherlands does not observe the holiday. I had the kids trick-or-treating upstairs as I rushed from room to room to answer the doors, and we had bat wings and eyeballs for dinner.

Thursday I went to Maastricht to catch up with Megan, who has been studying there since late August. I spent the night; we went to the World Press Photo exhibit which is currently displayed in Maastricht and to the Bonnefantenmuseum, a contemporary art gallery. We had a fantastic time there. It's definitely a good idea to take a buddy with you to a contemporary art museum. It quadruples the fun.

Like a champ.

On Saturday, the boys competed in a bicycle race, the 5- and 6-year-old division.

Carl: Do you think I'm going to win?

Amanda: Well, do you think you're going to win?

Carl: Yes.

And he did.

Rick was flying, unfortunately, so he missed the first win in what he hopes will be Carl's long and successful cycling career, but we watched the video and celebrated heartily when he returned home that evening. Carl popped open a bottle of champagne.

Pete gave an impressive performance as well, but his was after the race. He didn't cry. He didn't complain. He didn't even seem to resent Carl. He just piped up with, "I didn't fall down!" (Carl did fall, once.) And he drank that champagne like he had earned it.

De-Lousing

It was fairly late on a Tuesday night when I returned home from Scotland, and the next morning I was met with the following message as Carien hurried out the door to work: "Pete has lice." Rick was also leaving for work that day, so I was left alone for three days with the task of getting rid of the little buggers.

Mostly, this meant laundry. Anything the kids took off, touched, or looked at was thrown into the washing machine. You can imagine the ironing project that followed. I didn't know that many clothes existed.

It also meant meticulous checking of the children's heads. Luckily, after Pete had his head full of the no-more-lice medicine for a day, I didn't find any critters on any heads. Maybe, just maybe, we were in the clear.

And we were. Until the following Wednesday in Germany when Carien found lice on Ed's head, which prompted a search revealing lice on Pete and Carl. The project began again. We put no-more-lice medicine on the kids' heads. We vacuumed. We bagged everything, as we had no washing machine. We itched and itched and itched, but despite knowing for sure that we all had them, we couldn't find them anywhere else.

To date there have been no more lice sightings, though precautions are still being taken. Lots of toys are still hanging out in plastic bags. The lice comb is still on hand. The other day I found Rick's pilot hat in the freezer. No wonder he can't keep track of it.

Dear Diary

Also in Germany, I met Ruud. With any luck, we'll all be hearing a lot more about him.

Alles goed.

I'll admit it. I wasn't looking forward to a week in Germany, hanging out at the house at night with the kids while the grown-ups went to hang out with the rest of the family. The first two days were misery for me -- dishes, diapers, German television -- despite the celebration of Halloween on Sunday. If I had blogged before Tuesday evening, you wouldn't have been surprised to find me in a U.S. airport by Wednesday.

But then, on Tuesday, in the middle of lipsyncing N*Sync's Bye Bye Bye with Carl and performing the dance I helped him choreograph for the family's annual lipsync competition, I started having a fantastic time. (Even though we didn't win. Even though we had a lice outbreak among the kids on Wednesday that kept us vaccuuming and bagging all fabrics.)

We were in Kirchheim, about five hours from here by car, and it's beautiful. You're going to have to take my word for that. I went on lots of runs and walks, and each time I thought, okay, next time I have to remember the camera. And then I ended up being too busy for walks at all for the last three days, so. No pictures of the area.

But it's beautiful. There are actual hills! I've mentioned before that the Netherlands is a lazy runner's paradise, but it's also boring. At least in the mountains, you have something to dread.

On Thursday night, Opa was too tired to venture out for the daily party, so I got to go in his place instead of going to bed early with the kiddies. The first two hours were pretty dry. There were so many people, and so much Dutch being spoken, that I couldn't really find a strain of conversation to follow without distraction. But eventually I got more focused, and although I didn't contribute in meaningful Dutch ways, I did get the jokes and I had a great time. I also finished a bottle of wine. Couldn't hurt.

Carien and I got to bond a bit. It's funny listening to her make fun of the German language. A Dutch speaker. Making fun of German.

Which, by the way, sounds almost lovely after nine months of the Dutch.

I learned some German words. They include:

saft -- juice
apfel -- apple
wasser -- water

We went on walks. We had a barbecue. We shopped in the nearby town of Hersfeld where I bought clothes that weren't on sale. I played tennis for the first time in my life (minus that time with you, Boy, but I don't think that much counts), and my partner couldn't possibly have been very disappointed in my performance -- I did the good work. Except for my serving, which was a bit of a liability. We won a match, lost a match, and I love that sport. I look good with a raquet. My life needs more tennis. That's all.

The best part? This trip kicked my bad mood, dare I say for good. I feel motivated again. I have such deep affection for this country and its people. I love Carien's giant family. Leaving Europe is going to be a painfully difficult operation.

May the best you've ever seen be the worst you'll ever see again.

Sunday night in Edinburgh was fantastic. It just happened to be the one evening out of the month that a group of my host's friends, most of them Brazilian (though they didn't know each other till they met in Edinburgh) get together and make feijoada, a traditional Brazilian dish. Basically, it's a whole pig, black beans, some spices, and whatever other random stuff you want to throw in. On top of it you put this certain flour-type stuff, which looks like parmesan cheese but isn't, and it tastes good by itself, too. Delicious.

Jony told me he suspected we'd start around six, so I promised to be back by then. I was, but we didn't even leave the house until 9:30. Apparently, Brazilian time is similar to Spanish time. They had warned me that the dish takes at least four hours to cook (it's one of those that is better the next day), so I knew we were in for a long night.



We shopped for a few last-minute things and met up with Pedro, Curgy, Leo, Sergio, and Patrick, the lone Scot. Jony and Pedro started cooking, and the rest of us kicked back around a couple of bottles of wine.



It reminded me of when I fell in love with the theatre crowd. We were at a party, and a handful of drunk actors were discussing directing theory. At a party! Drunk! I adored them. And travelers are the same, though they talk about where they've been, where they're going, where you should stay when you go, where you shouldn't bother going, what you should eat when you get there. It's fantastic. They're such an open, welcoming, fascinating lot of people, and I am delighted to count myself amongst them.

It wasn't until the feijoada was served that I realized we'd been there awhile. Soooo good. Curgy spilled his on my leg. Twice.



It was a truly magnificent evening. More than once, I was overcome by the absolute delight of it, and actually had to fight back tears of joy on two occasions. It was just so special. There I was, in Edinburgh, sitting around with a handful of Brazilians, a Spaniard, and a Scot, listening to them switch back and forth between the three languages, feeling perfectly happy and at home, wanting to stay in Scotland not for Scotland, but for them. Magnificent.

Taking the High Road

I leave a lot of places wanting to go back, but Scotland is the first I've felt I desperately need to return to. I'm so excited to head back and take a trip up through the Highlands, as I ended up not getting far out of Edinburgh. For good reason, of course, but there is much there to see, and I can't wait to see it.

I stayed with a couple of Brazilians, fantastic people. So fantastic, in fact, that I decided to stay with them in Edinburgh the last night instead of journeying on to Glasgow, though my plane left from there on Tuesday.

I arrived on Friday afternoon -- an hour late. Thanks a lot, EasyJet. Leo was there, though....had been waiting that whole hour, so I felt pretty bad, but he was in good spirits. He dropped me off at his house and went to work. I went back out on the town and ended up at a performance of Merchant of Venice that evening.

On Saturday Leo went with me up to the Artist's Sit, which is a hill providing the best view of any place I've ever been, and around town.





Lots and lots of walking. I'm estimating 8-10 miles. No joke.







Jony, his roommate, joined us later. We went to a bar around midnight and met another friend of theirs.



Sunday I was on my own, first to a comedy club for an afternoon of improv (it was okay) and then to the National Portrait Gallery, also okay. I had every intention of leaving on Monday morning to go Glasgow, but these people were too much fun. I had no plans to stay anywhere in Glasgow, and no real urge to see anything it had to offer. I was intending to journey out to Loch Lomond, but Jony suggested renting a car and taking a drive, so we planned on that.

Of course, the driver needs both a license and a credit card in his own name, and I was the only one among us with that particular combination. However, I was not about to attempt driving on the left side of the road. So, bust. I was really disappointed, thinking I should have gone on to Glasgow after all, as from there I would have simply taken a train to Loch Lomond.

We went back to the house. It was late morning by this time, and I was trying to determine the best way to get to Loch Lomond, thinking of maybe getting a hostel in Glasgow on Monday night after all, when Jony suggested St. Andrews. So, we took a 2.5-hour bus ride to St. Andrews. A charming little town. The cathedral is fascinating, the coastline beautiful. Worthwhile.









There was a party that night, a bunch of the Brazilians getting together, which I was very excited to go to. However, upon returning from St. Andrews, my evening looked something like this:

7:00 -- throwing up in bus station bathroom
7:56 -- throwing up in Leith Walk garbage bin
8:15 -- throwing up at home

I planted myself on the couch and didn't move until 7:30 the next morning. I still have no idea what caused that. I never felt sick to my stomach at any point. It was just suddenly, wow, I'm going to throw up, and I did. And then I felt fine, until I wanted to throw up again, and I did. Very strange. By morning I was totally fine. And terribly disappointed. Jony wasn't home. It must have been a fun one.

Tuesday was traveling, traveling. I took a bus to Glasgow (one hour) and a bus to the airport (another hour). My plane left at 4:30, I was home by 6:30, but then I had to wait for a train and worse, for a bus. I didn't actually get back to the house till after 10:00 pm -- totally missing Ed's birthday. The boys chastised me for that this morning.

Scotland. Lovely. Itching to get back and take a drive through the Highlands. Who's with me?