by Kyle James
We then made our way to the ape section. Ape viewing, for us two, is where the guilt really sets in. They have a 1 percent difference in DNA from humans. One percent is the only difference between sitting on your couch, watching football on Sunday, and sitting in a jail cell for life without having committed a crime.
The elephants, on the other hand, were in rather spunky moods—throwing dirt around and playing with each other. My sister, Emily, is obsessed with elephants, so I naturally have an appreciation for them every time I see them. It also made it easy to buy her gifts when we were growing up: anything elephant-themed was a hit.
Next up: hippo feeding. As we watched the tank-like animal ravage food atop watery stones, I realized that after two years of visiting the Denver Zoo, I had never seen a hippo out of the water until now. Their legs are abnormally short. I still think I could outrun one charging me. The idea of hippos running fifty miles per hour or being the most dangerous animal in Africa was hard to imagine as I watched this short bowling ball graze on piles of fruit and greens.
The highlight of the Antwerp Zoo was the nocturnal animal building. It contained exhibits unlike any we had seen before. The entire building was pitch black. The featured exhibit this summer was rats. (Yes, rats.) The reason for this was their use in Africa to find land mines. It was awesome to watch the documentary on how these rats were conditioned to find explosives hidden in fields. New York City has an arsenal of rats that could really boost their current résumés of eating trash and living in sewers.
We continued our tour and came to the raccoon and skunk exhibit. The exhibit maps along the way had shown us where the animals normally lived. It was usually some remote area of Asia, Africa, or South America. The raccoons and skunks, however, had North America as the sole location of these “exotic” animals. I couldn’t believe those little garbage pests were being showcased at the Antwerp Zoo.
The last area of the small loop housed the reptiles. I spoke Parseltongue to the snakes, but none of them responded. They must have been sleeping. We came to the end of the zoo loop and started the long trek home.
Tonight we were calling it an early night. The zoo was a decent blow to our daily budget, and we couldn’t afford another night out in Antwerp, financially or physically. We had had one day of rowdiness and one day of relaxation. (That’s what R&R stands for, right?)
6/17/15
Antwerp, Belgium → Rotterdam, Netherlands
We strolled through the empty streets of Antwerp at 6:30 a.m. to catch a ride with our next BlaBlaCar driver, Jochen. Thirty minutes had passed with no sign of him. We began to worry we had the wrong place. As we sat there, I noticed a girl had joined us on the bench, facing the same landmark. After we all three stood up at a false alarm (a blue Volvo passed), Ash asked if she was waiting for Jochen as well. She replied that she was and that and she had ridden with him many times on BlaBlaCar, and this was unusual. We had yet to have a flawless BlaBlaCar experience. Jerome was late in Paris, we were late in Brussels, and now Jochen was—hopefully—late in Antwerp.
The other girl—whose name escapes me so let’s go with Barblah for obvious reasons—finally decided to call Jochen. She woke him up. He had overslept but was now on his way. “Here he comes!” she said as he approached with the classic I have been rehearsing in my head how to explain to my teacher/boss why I am so late but I am still shook to perform it face.
“Sorry, everyone, I slept through my alarm,” he said.
You have to love the honesty.
The ride was peaceful and uneventful, and after only an hour, we cruised into Rotterdam. Jochen dropped us off at an agreed-upon train station.
Later, as I sat on the train, I thought about how excited I was to spend the next couple of days in the largest port city in Europe and the third largest in the world behind Singapore and Shanghai. When we arrived at the terminal, I sent a message to our Airbnb host, Philippe, to let him know we were on our way.
Of all the Airbnb hosts thus far, Philippe and I had corresponded the most prior to our arrival. We had booked this place a month in advance, and he had provided us with advice and tips on every location leading up to Rotterdam. Meeting him on his row house stoop was like meeting a longtime pen pal in person.
He greeted us with a heartfelt hello and ushered us inside. His house tour was thorough, to say the least. He showed us every light switch and demonstrated each one’s illuminating power. It was awesome that he took his Airbnb hosting seriously, but we were exhausted. We had been up since 6:30 a.m. and had just finished a mile-long walk with our fifty-pound packs. The tour finally made it to our room, and we quickly showered and climbed into bed to rest before an evening with the siblings of my soon-to-be brother-in-law, JJ.
JJ had arranged for us to meet up with his two sisters and their families while we were in his hometown. We also had a date with his oldest brother and his family tomorrow night. It was a full schedule, but we were excited to have people to hang out with from the moment we arrived in Rotterdam.
When we awoke from our nap, my stomach growled at me like a Rottweiler does at an intruder. We had dinner plans in a few hours, but walked two miles to Rotterdam’s new food market to grab a snack. The Markthal Rotterdam was a massive indoor market with a grid of amazing vendors. There were fresh local cheeses, meats, small restaurants, and desserts.
The variety and options were overwhelming, so we made the logical choice and ordered a cone of pomme frites like everyone else. The casualness with which fries were served in cones was exciting. The only weird part was that everyone dipped the fries in mayonnaise instead of ketchup. We then spent the next fifteen minutes coming up with cheesy-fry-inspired movie titles like Frytanic, Saving Private Fryan, and Fryving Miss Daisy.
Ash left to do some shopping, and I went to use the bathroom. I approached the woman at the counter in front of it. What, is she taking attendance? I thought.
“Can I use the bathroom?”
“Yes,” she said. “It is seventy cents.”
Hmm … I didn’t particularly want to pay seventy cents, but I didn’t have much of a choice, so I forked over the money and took a seat.
Afterward, we finished our fries and grabbed coffee for the road to walk to Erasmuspark, our dinner location. As we reached an intersection, the crosswalk light turned to the stopping hand. This obviously meant we had about four more seconds before the light turned green. So I did what anyone who hates waiting at crosswalks would do: I quickly crossed the road. That was my natural response. On the other hand, Ash’s natural response was to stop. After realizing she was not with me, I glanced back to see her wearing this I can’t believe you just left me face. Her passive nature is one of the many things I love about her, but her lack of sidewalk urgency drives me crazy.
We arrived unfashionably early to the restaurant so we could drink a beer to calm our nerves: we were having dinner with four and a half strangers (there was an infant in the mix) from another country. Ash and I were going to serve as family ambassadors before my sister’s October wedding to ease the awkwardness of everyone meeting for the first time at the wedding.
It turns out we didn’t need the beer to soften up the conversation. These were four of the most sincere, down-to-earth people we had come across thus far. They felt like family from the moment they arrived. I should have known that if they were anything like JJ, we would love them, but there is always a little fear of the unknown, right? We said good-bye to our four and a half newest family members, and thanked them extensively for not only meeting us out but also showing us such great hospitality over a hot meal and drinks.
We had begun feeling a little homesick on our trip, but JJ’s family filled that void and gave us the comfort of sharing laughs you only have with family members.
6/18/15
Rotterdam, Netherlands
Today we were spending the afternoon with JJ’s eldest brother, Harke. We said good-bye to Philippe and were off to the Dordrecht metro stop, where Harke was waiting.
We sp
otted Harke’s blue Mercedes at precisely the time and location we were to meet. It was the first flawless pickup of our trip so far. He looked similar to JJ, although a bit shorter. (JJ is six foot seven inches tall.) Harke was on his way home from Brussels for work, but his wife, Heidi, and his two sons, Maarten and Tim, were meeting us later.
Harke cruised into a farmland festooned with windmills, surrounding the big city. We were visiting the windmills at Kinderdijk, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Harke led the way down the dykes as he gave us some background information. Heidi’s grandfather used to work on the mills, and he lived in a small house on the property. Then he abruptly said, “Ah, there is my son.” I turned to see Maarten, a three-year-old blond kid smiling ear to ear and running toward us. He looked as if he were going to jump right into Harke’s arms, but instead he ran right past us, smiling mischievously to see who would chase him.
We ate dinner in the small mill restaurant where we met Heidi and Tim. Tim was only one year old but loved watching his brother play. We were the only group in the mill restaurant; this worked out well for Maarten. He turned the restaurant into his own personal playground and ran around yelling things in Dutch.
It was another great evening spent with JJ’s family. These were the days we’d hoped for when we set off to travel. Experiencing different cultures in a variety of ways, from the food, to the sites, to the people. It felt like we had just gotten the hang of Rotterdam, and it was already time to leave.
We headed home to get some rest before our weekend in Amsterdam. We had a strange feeling this was where the trip was going to take a turn for the weird.
6/19/15
Rotterdam, Netherlands → Amsterdam, Netherlands
It was only a short distance to Amsterdam, but today was still a travel day. We had to walk a mile to our BlaBlaCar pickup location, drive for an hour, and then take a train from our drop-off point to our next apartment location. We were discovering that, despite the actual travel distance, the entire day was exhausting as we moved from apartment to apartment, and city to city.
After we cleaned our room, our backpacks loaded, we trekked to the train station. As we walked down the chilly streets of Rotterdam, I did some reflecting. If nothing else, this trip solidified my theory that people make the places. There wasn’t an abundance of exciting things to do and see in Rotterdam compared to, say, Paris, but we had an amazing time because of the people we were with. JJ’s family wanted us to have a great time in their home country, and they had succeeded. I was definitely no traveling expert, but I could already tell that if we could find friends along the way, it would make our journey far more enriching.
Our fourth time was the charm. Our BlaBlaCar pickup, door to door, was flawless, thanks to our military-esque driver, Carmen. I sat in the back of the car, which was the size of a go-kart; Ash BlaBla’d in the front. She and Carmen chatted about their jobs and hometowns, and made other small talk.
Carmen dropped us off at a train station outside the city center. We were four for four on successful BlaBlaCar trips so far—successful being quantified by surviving. We purchased two one-trip metro tickets for six euros total and got on a train heading to central Amsterdam to meet Arjen, one of JJ’s friends. He generously offered us a studio his parents owned on the Amstel canal.
The studio was incredible: it had a large bed, a washer, a big porch, and a table full of beer, chips, fruit, and chocolate as a welcoming gift from Arjen. We thanked him extensively and planned to get dinner with him and his girlfriend tomorrow. Tonight we had plans with an old buddy from App State, Matt, who had been traveling all over Asia for the last six months and was having a traveling-crew reunion in Amsterdam.
We set out to explore the city and started along the Amstel canal, passing houseboat after houseboat, some new, some old, some modern and chic, and some with moss growing on the tops.
After eating at an Italian restaurant, we left to find cold rain pelting us in this canal-lined city. We embraced the conditions; there was something beautiful about a chilly, rainy night in northern Europe.
We arrived at the bar at the the same time as Matt. There were embraces all around as we headed inside. After the phrase “First shots are for Cambodia!” rang out of the mouths of Matt and his traveling buddies, we had a feeling tonight was going to be unscripted.
The first bar was small, but it packed a punch. We took three shots in a matter of ten minutes. I don’t always take tequila shots, but when the mood is right and they are handed to me in a loud, excited fashion, how does one say no? Each shot was chased with a ten-ounce Heineken. So there we were, three shots and five beers deep at 9:30 p.m. This is a recipe for poor decision-making, I thought.
The walk to the next bar was a blur. My memory of this transition is a lot of hugging and loud talking. I had reached the point where the next beer was going to put me into the land of no return. Ash had probably already passed the point of no return.
We entered the line for a nightclub that I quickly realized we were underdressed for. I watched as ladies in dresses and men in suits walked in ahead of us. I was wearing jogger pants, a casual button-down shirt, and Nike Lunars, my beard flowing in the wind. Ash was more presentable than I was, but her high-top Vans were no match for the stilettos every other girl had on. But the best thing to do when underdressed is pretend you are such a big deal that dress codes don’t apply to you.
We approached the bouncer, and I walked up like I owned the place. The problem was, after the amount of tequila we had just consumed … I didn’t even know who I was. The bouncer looked us up and down twice and, for whatever reason, let us in the club. The rest of the night is truly a blur.
This is the part of the movie where there is a montage of dancing; shots; deep, screaming conversations with strangers; shots; strobe lights illuminating sweaty faces; shots; smoke-filled rooms; and more shots. Five hours later, we emerged from the twilight zone and stumbled into the street. I looked down at my phone to get us directions home and saw 5:15 a.m. staring back at me. We somehow managed to crawl home like babies, unsure if each step would keep us upright. We reached our apartment just as the sun began to rise, splashing dull oranges and reds onto the canvas of the canals.
6/20/15
Amsterdam, Netherlands
Thump-thump, thump-thump … My head pounded as I struggled to open my eyes, confused about where I was, only able to focus on the throbbing in my head. Then the eject button in my stomach overpowered my head, and I ran to the bathroom just in time to vomit violently. I could barely recall what we’d done last night. My brain felt damaged.
When we were able to move, we decided to do what we’d tried to do at least one day in every city: get lost. We roamed the ever-changing streets; one minute we were walking past elegant houses on the canal, and the next minute we were cruising through clouds of marijuana smoke.
We arrived at the jungle of the city center. It was a smorgasbord of people basking in the lawless quarter of Amsterdam. Ash went into a Zara, and I sat outside on a curb and people watched.
It was one of the most intense people-watching sessions I had ever enjoyed. I saw the many faces of humans whose minds were so distinctly altered, their eyes were simply emotionless windshields for the brain to make sure they didn’t run into objects. They were zombies, lost in deep thought. My own transfixed vision on these tripping souls was broken by the screams of a woman on a doorstep, waving a sign and yelling, “God can still save you! It is not too late!” Quiet down, I thought. Can’t you see these people are dreaming?
It was time to gear up for dinner, so we walked the two miles home, still feeling the effects from the shit show of the previous evening. We took longer than anticipated to get ready for dinner with Arjen, and had to Uber to get to the restaurant on time. Only an Uber Black was available, so we rolled around Amsterdam in a Mercedes C-Class. I wrote this on my bucket list just so I could cross it off.
At the restaurant, Arjen introduced us to his girlfriend, Irene. Irene was
such a sweet, charming woman; she perfectly complemented Arjen’s generous nature. They had made reservations for us at a new French Alps–inspired restaurant called Les Bistrot des Alpes.
After dinner, we headed to one of Arjen’s favorite bars in the middle of the Red Light District. Apparently, it is common for locals to go to bars in the district as if it were just another area. We passed through crowds of people partying in the streets, which were lined with women for sale via department store windows.
It was unfathomable to me how out in the open prostitution was. There were gorgeous lingerie-wearing women just waiting for someone to come to their doors. Before arriving, I was well aware of how things truly were in Amsterdam, but I could not believe how accessible and beautiful the women were in the flesh. Arjen explained that the women posing in the department store windows were union protected and paid much more than prostitutes working on their own.
After consuming better gin and tonics than I had anticipated, we escaped the loud noise of the bachelor parties and buzz of drunken people in the Red Light District and crossed the canal. The difference between the two sides was like night and day. What I would describe as a mix of Mardi Gras and porn convention was a mere three hundred yards from the peaceful Amstel.
Our budget, I should note, was once again obliterated—by the French cuisine, large gin and tonics, and Mercedes rides though Amsterdam. But these nights with new friends were priceless. We would just have to save money elsewhere. We did calf raises up the stairs to the studio and quickly fell asleep. Being Amsterdam VIPs had worn us out.
6/21/15
Amsterdam, Netherlands
We had tons of work to do to secure Airbnbs for the next month, book transportation to our next few cities, write reviews for previous hosts, and send and respond to e-mails. Just because we were unemployed, didn’t mean we weren’t working.
