Europe in My Nutshell

When I decided I was going to Amsterdam and Paris, I also decided that my pet rock, Rocky, would be accompanying me on said adventure.  Rocky hails from the icy shores of Lake Superior in Two Harbors, MN and was rescued last June from his life of obscure rock-ness when I found him just lying on the beach looking all wet, worn down, and, well… phallic.  That’s when I decided I needed Rocky.  And he needed me. 

I packed up all my travel essentials and assigned Rocky his own pocket in my backpack.  Our first stop?   Amsterdam – and specifically Betsy’s place in the land of smoke and dreams and, um, hookers. 

This is Rocky introducing himself to his new shot glass friend, Whiskey Dick.

Amsterdam rocked (no pun intended).  I loved all the tulips, canals, old architecture, and watching all the colorful people.   Everyone seems to ride a bike around town – not the fancy 10 speed bikes like we have, the old fashioned Auntie Em from the Wizard of Oz kind of bikes.  Amsterdammers can fit a family of 4 on one bike AND haul groceries.  Amazing.

In Amsterdam, the perpetual camera dangling from my neck certainly told the world that I was a tourist, but nothing screams AMERICAN like a muffin top oozing out the top of a pair of Gap ‘Long and Leans’.  Which, by the way, naming a pair of jeans ‘Long and Lean’ is one smart marketing ploy if you ask me.  Long and lean?  ‘Short and Stout’ obviously wouldn’t trigger women in need of a healthy dose of self-esteem to buy their jeans.  Who’s going to argue about being short and fat and having to buy a pair of jeans called “Long and Lean”?  Not me, I bought two pair just in case they decide to discontinue them. 

  Join in, sing with me – “Oh do you know the muffin man, the muffin man…” 

 

We spent the afternoon walking through Holland’s famous Keukenhof Gardens and enjoyed the brilliance of what had to be a trillion tulips.  There were varieties that were totally unique to Amsterdam.  I would love to have been able to take some bulbs home with me. 

 

 

 

 

 

The gardens were peppered with amazing sculptures that were quite interesting, and mostly whimsical.  Anne picked out a few Dutch gardeners that she’d like to keep in her garden but there wasn’t enough room in the car to bring them home with us.  Anne put them on her Christmas list anyway.

  After only one afternoon in the company of Anne and Betsy, it had become painfully clear that I was already getting on their nerves when Betsy showed me to my room.  I’m not sure if it was a threat or not, but I cleaned up my act pretty quickly after that. 

After we unloaded all the luggage and grabbed some supper, Betsy delivered on her promise to take me to the infamous Red Light District.  It was quite the experience, although I’m sure I would have emerged much more “educated” had we spent more time there.  Quite frankly, it was uncomfortable for me to walk by windows with the girls for sale in them.  Strangely enough, there was not a muffin top in the lot.  Apparently muffin topped girls don’t sell well in Amsterdam.  I’m not sure who felt more awkward – me for going to the red light district with my friend’s daughter, or Betsy for having to walk around with a woman who had a pet rock shaped like a shlong in her bag.  And whipped it out for photo ops.

We stopped at the store to grab a few essentials gifts. <–

And somebody stopped me to ask if I had a light and if I knew the directions to the nearest Taco Bell.  –>

Then we headed back to Betsy’s place to pack up and get ready to head to France in the morning.

 

 

 

 We packed the car for the trip to France.  It was a tight squeeze but we each grabbed a handful of wieners and hit the road with the GPS stuck to the windshield in true tourist fashion.  

Rocky learned that size really doesn’t matter. 
And we all learned that driving is unsafe with a wiener in your hand.

Giverney was our afternoon pitstop where we enjoyed the beautiful home, gardens, and ponds that once inspired Claude Monet.   It wasn’t a very crowded day so it was easy to just tour the grounds and peruse the gift shop.  Other than the woman who didn’t feel like a group of 3 should be allowed to enter in the group entrance, we never met up with anybody in France who was remotely rude to us.  Except, maybe, for the waiter at the bistro who insisted on kissing me everytime he came to our table.  Eeew.

 We left Giverney and before long we were checking into the Paris Hilton (like WHO hasn’t spent a night in Paris Hilton?).   After getting situated, Betsy and I walked 2 blocks to the Eiffel tower.  We were hounded by hawkers peddaling some little mini plastic Eiffel tower key rings.  Good price just for me they negotiated.

The Eiffel Tower was grand and beautiful and so romantic.  Unlike the Mona Lisa, it was much larger than I had anticipated.  There’s something about being sandwiched into tight quarters with 4000 other people that turns me on.  Think about it – 4000 people at the bottom of the Eiffel tower ascending to the tiny point at the top makes for some serious compression.  If Rocky were made of coal, he’d have been a diamond by the time we emerged at the top of the tower. 

Visiting at night was an experience not to be missed.  A still camera simply can’t capture the magnificence of the twinkling lights that come on at the top of each hour.  The view of Paris from the top of the tower is amazing.    And windy.

But well worth getting compressed over.

 

We went back to the hotel and fell asleep with dreams of our next adventure
and visions of chocolate croissants dancing in our heads.

The next morning the three of us plotted our ASSault on Paris.  
From the looks of things, one might expect we thought we were going to Brazil.

 And then we checked to see if it was cold outside.   

It was.

We grabbed some free breakfast in the Executive Lounge.  Betsy’s influence and power is acknowledged world-wide, and we were spoiled by the privileges afforded to such dignitaries.  Betsy was very kind and generous to let Anne and I enjoy her Hilton Honors Points and the benefits afforded to her during our stay in Paris.   I’m guessing we saved hundreds of Euros on beverages alone.  Not to mention the room.

By this time I was missing the family so I called home to see how things were going
and if Mark had the kids under control. 

He didn’t answer the phone right away.

I finally got ahold of them and spent a good hour consoling Joey about getting beat up in the school yard.  That always happens when Mark picks out his clothes.  

We hit downtown Paris for some museum strolling and some shopping. 
I bought a bunch of Christmas presents for my family and Rocky’s. 

We toured the Louvre, drank an $11.00 Coke,  and enjoyed window shopping on the streets of Paris while observing everyone we could.  The people watching was spectacular.   I loved seeing kids in their little french berets.  Everyone in Paris wore a scarf.  I’m guessing it’s because of all the hickeys they must get from living in the most romantic city in the world.     

After watching a season of Project Runway, I was inspired to buy a new outfit for me. 

And matching outfits for me and Mark.

And I made a New.  Best. Friend.

Was I embarrassed walking down Rue Royale (think Rodeo Drive) with my sandwich in hand, baguette crumbs speckling my black jacket and a slice of tomato dangling from my lower lip?  Not one bit.  Would I go back to Paris just to have that little sandwich which cost me all of 3 Euros again?  In a heartbeat.  That little baguette sandwich from the deli on Rue Madeleine (in the market behind Senderens) was phenomenal – but I ate it too fast to get a picture of it (sorry). 

That night we went to Senderens for dinner.  Ate a duck’s liver and a lamb’s ass thigh. 
Won’t ever be doing that again. 

During the middle of the night Anne yacked up the duck’s liver. 

And her liver.

Poor Anne. 

While Anne recovered from the revenge of the mad duck, or lobster, or scallops, Versaille and the ghost of Louis the XIV beckoned me to visit.  I joined a tour and soaked in all that defines grotesque opulence.  Words simply cannot describe that level of grandeur, artistry, or excessiveness.  However, I did get some decorating ideas and made a note to have Mark hang some mirrors in the hallway and paint the living room.  Just like this. 

 Unless he wants to meet up with this. 

I think this was a guillotine but don’t know french, so it could be an ironing board for all I know.   The word guillotine was mentioned in the description tag so I made that assumption.   Smart American.

 

Not so smart American.   Europe is good at separating Americans from their money.  Among other things apparently.

The weather turned nasty so I went back to the hotel to slip into something more comfortable, relax and read my very interesting and amusing book, Candy Girl, written by Diablo Cody, the writer of the movie Juno.  I really enjoyed it – as did Rocky.

 

 

 

 Talked to Mark again. 

Although not willing to readily admit it, I think he might have missed me. 

 Being a tourist is tiring work.  And it can leave you feeling spent and not looking so fresh at the end of a long day of exploration.  I felt like I had been taken back 400 years as I explored the art, relics, and architecture in Paris.  It made me realize how young and architecturally dull the US is.

I can’t honestly say what was the highlight of the trip.  The whole thing was the highlight.  It was a phenomenal trip spent with two phenomenal women. 

And I can’t wait to go back again someday. 

We all agreed that what happens in Europe? 

Stays in Europe. 

~ by karmental on June 12, 2008.