I said:

(And I saw an old, bearded man wearing red long johns and a shiny red bathroom rollerblade past me on my way here this afternoon, so really, how can I not love Amsterdam?)

BathroBE.

*sigh*

Amsterdam. I'm sitting here all light-headed and spaced out and bleary. Nope, haven't been having the full Amsterdam experience -- just have a really lousy cold. Bah.

Three days left, and one of those is going to be taken up with sitting around the airport and then sitting on a plane. A week ago, I was happy about the thought of going home. Two days ago, sad. Today? Well, if it weren't for the constant nose blowing and the tickly throat and the hoarse voice (actually, that part's kind of fun), I'd be a little sad, but I just want to go home and sleep for a week. In my own bed.

Last night I stayed in a Christian youth shelter cause it was the only place I could book ahead that still had places. I've never felt so uncomfortable in a hostel before. Partly it's cause I'm a heathen, and they greeted me at the reception desk with my very own copy of Somebody-or-other's Gospel, and invited me to the free meal that night, ("Oh, and you know, there'll be some talking about stuff," he adds casually), and then there was the Bible discussion group at 7:30. Which actually probably would have been really interesting, especially considering how many Biblical paintings I've been looking at lately, and wanting to know so much more about, but I wasn't in the mood to be converted, and that's what it felt like it would be.

The other uncomfortable part was the size of the room (16 beds), and the fact that mine was right by a door leading out to the central courtyard, which was wide open during the day. Meaning even less privacy than usual, and as for leaving anything out of my locker, forget it. People who weren't staying in the room were using it as a shortcut between the courtyard and reception. Ugh.

But now I'm at the Flying Pig Palace (hee hee), near a nice park (full of suspiciously giggly people, but whatever), near the museums, with a door that locks. Yay. Life is good.

(And I saw an old, bearded man wearing red long johns and a shiny red bathroom rollerblade past me on my way here this afternoon, so really, how can I not love Amsterdam?)