isle of skye coffee...

A list of things I really really love about Scotland:

Sheep
Hills
Moss
Fairies that look like ordinary bugs
Scones
People
Trees
Water
Cheese
Yogurt
Stories
Welcoming hostels
Fish & chips
The man and woman at who worked at the hostel we stayed at who I secretly watched make out from my window one night
The couple from Spain who were so sweet and wonderful, and who said “bye” to us on the day we were leaving without being told we were leaving

A things of things that I did not so much like about Scotland:

The smell of cup-o-noodles and hot sauce in the hostel
Beer
Sandwiches from grocery stores
COFFEE

Mostly I just did not enjoy the coffee offerings in the Isle of Skye. The coffee in Edinburgh was fine.

We when we ventured to the beautiful Isle of Skye we retained our enthusiasm for coffee in the morning. Jennifer had done some investigating the night we arrived and discovered that the coffee the hostel “provides” is instant coffee, so we immediately decided that we had to go elsewhere. The next morning we did go elsewhere, and I watched Jennifer go into a small house named “Harry’s” that was actually a store and I peered in the door as she approached the woman behind the counter and ordered a coffee. I watched the woman pick up an ancient pot of coffee and pour it into a cup, and I bolted. I began walking down the street and told Allison where I was going and she followed, because she wanted to buy postcards.

When we arrived at the King’s something or other restaurant I went into the food line and confidently approached the cashier and ordered a cappuccino. I smiled as I thought about how triumphant I was, choosing to be intentional about my coffee purchases. I was awoken from my daydream by the sound of a machine beginning to whir next to the cashier and saw her placing a cup under a nozzle and a grayish white liquid began pouring, FAST, into my cup. Before I could stop her, she was asking me if I wanted chocolate on the top. I said yes. She shook a generous amount of chocolate on the top of it and I gave her a pound fifty and walked away, defeated, into the most beautiful place I have ever been.

An open letter to the beer of Scotland,

I was very excited to drink you. Somewhere along the way I had built up the idea in my mind that beer in Scotland would be like the beer in Belgium: cold, bubbly, many many choices and hip glasses to drink the beer out of.

When I ordered my first Scottish beer (Carlsberg, perhaps?) my heart split in two. Slowly. What was this warm, smooth sap that was flowing down my palette? Was this beer or warm water? This certainly was not BIER and not even high life.

I don’t mean to generalize, beer of Scotland, because maybe it is just the beer in Edinburgh that is boring, warm and tasteless. Perhaps the beer in other parts of Scotland is COLD, REFRESHING, HINTS OF DIFFERENT FLAVORS AND UNDERTONES of whatever it is made of. I hope I am wrong.

I have to admit, that if I had drank you, beer of Scotland, before the BIER in Gent, Bruges or even Amsterdam, I may not have been so snotty about it. Maybe the bar was just set too high, and maybe that is not fair.

The one question in my mind that still remains is, why warm? Why not cold? Why do I have to be forced to order a SAN MIGUEL (from Mexico? Spain? Portugal? Who knows!) in order to have a beer that satisfies and does not turn my stomach? I was forced to compromise my values around drinking local beer, wherever I am. No to Carlsberg (brewed in Edinburgh) and yes to San Miguel, brewed who knows where.

As we head toward the Isle of Skye, beer of Scotland, I am going to give you one more chance. I am crossing my fingers that there are some choices other than Strongbow (a cider! The cider was warm too!), Carlsberg, Carlsberg export (supposedly “stronger”), Guiness or Guiness EXTRA COLD??!!! There is no such thing as extra cold in you.

I am not bitter, but I wish you were.
Cheers,
Pam

we heart scotland

Goodbye Amsterdam and a big hello to Edinburgh, Scotland.. We arrived at 5:55 pm so we had actually lost a measly 10 minutes traveling by plane. Sweet! I knew right away that Scotland was a place my heart would feel happy. I knew this because I didn’t have to pay to use the WC- relieving myself for free always makes me happy. I bought a cup of coffee and relaxed while Allison and Pam asked all the right questions to get us headed in the proper direction of our Hostel . We were told it would be a quick walk from the bus stop to the Hostel on a hill. Turns out quick walks are made a bit longer when one is carrying an extra 15 kilos on their back; regardless, we made it to the castle and we knew that our hostel wasn’t far. We continued up the hill and saw our temporary home. We zipped in and checked in while simultaneously being checked out by the guy behind the counter. Who was able to give us great tips on where to get fish and chips…. He suggested “anywhere” yea, thanks buddy. Throwing off our packs allowed us to venture out and find our fist Scottish beer and meal. We were happy with the first place we found but things got a little rocky once we sat down. Beer in the form of cider was placed on our table, Guinness was handed out with smiles to those around us but strangely was not available when ordered from our table. We took it all in stride, barely flinching, and ordered our food. Allison and Pam ordered the much anticipated fish and chips while I went for the curry vegetables (a daring choice once I remembered I was in a pub). Fortunately, I didn’t have to live with the consequences of eating curry from a beer joint, because we were soon informed that they were fresh out of fish and chips. We guzzled our beers and cider as quickly as possible and moved on since we had been informed that food stopped being served after 9ish. We moved down a few bars and found a place that not only had a flowing spout of Guinness but a large supply of fish and chips ready for the taking. I learned from the last scary decision and went with the vegetarian haggis after being told it tasted just like the real thing. I was sure if that was a good or bad thing since I had never had sheep brain before but was feeling brave after the last beer . Food came and it was enjoyed by all, turns out sheep brains taste a lot like mushroom and pine nut pilaf. Good food and good beer/scotch/whiskey led to a good nights sleep in our hostel by the castle.

father of jochem

So, after spending approximately 15 hours in Amsterdam (half of them sleeping), we decided to take refuge in a smaller, much less touristy, “suburb” called Haarlem. As we learned from Rick (Steeves, our portable travel guide - don’t judge us), Harlem, NY was named after this town, as New York used to be named New Amsterdam. Fascinating. The train ride over was filled with lots historical relics and free range farming (Dutch cows and sheep don’t need fences) surrounded by moats, all of which we did not realize until the ride back. Once arriving in Haarlem, we wandered pretty aimlessly (not unusual for us), searching for something great, like an outside market. We found a park and canal and then decided to go back towards the train station where we decided that, before progressing any further, koffe was a must. Luckily we found a cute café sitting directly across from a very large construction site, so we could enjoy the smell of exhaust while sipping our treats. As we were sitting there, sipping and discussing nougats, an older looking gent approached me from the side. I cant remember exactly what he said first, but he went on to comment on how skinny I was and I must need some apple pie. I said, “okay, sure.” He appeared to be pretty excited to take me up on the offer and quickly skipped inside to purchase a couple slices of pie. We proceeded to discuss topics such as his philosophy of square head, round heads, and oval heads. It’s too deep to explain here. Also, talked of politics, Holland, desserts, things to see & do in Haarlem, and mostly family. He expressed much joy over hearing that I have a 2 year-old. He told us all about his son,
Jochem, who is now 17. All of his other children are in their forties. From then on, he referred to himself as father of Jochem, and before parting ways, he made sure to leave all relevant contact info with us, including his address, phone number, email address (that he said he never checks), and names of all his children. He really enjoys having young people visit him. In Zeist, Holland…anyone interested?

…I’ve decided to continue looking skinny to encourage more free food (and nice chats with random kind people).

Also, in Haarlem we enjoyed these things:

Buying LOADS of delicious, local cheeses at a cheese shop from a kind young man who let us taste as many as we wanted
Unintentionally enjoying an afternoon snack and drink at Holland’s #2 top rated pub in 2008
Trying on boots in various stores, including giant wooden shoes
Shopping for random grocery items with labels in Dutch
Getting laughed at for almost breaking a fancy child bike seat
Not seeing crowds of drunk, stoned, crazy boys stumbling around
Walking on brick streets among very old buildings
Pam whispering “hunger winter” anytime we saw an short elderly person

dear amsterdam

Dear Amsterdam,

If we were three 22 year old Spanish dudes, we would have hopped onto the tram heading toward Dam square, taken a pee outside in the outdoor urinal (men only) and found the closest bar possible to get drunk and head off to the red light district. We would have really whooped it up, and we may have met some greek dudes and become buddies with them and gallivanted around the city together, drunk stoned and excited to be alive.

Since we are not 22 year old Spanish or Greek dudes, we had a far different experience. The train station in Amsterdam is one of the most chaotic and confusing places we have ever been. With very heavy packs on, it was pretty stressful to try to find change to pay to go to the bathroom and then squeeze past the gate to the bathroom and somehow go pee with a large pack on. Some of us got wedged in our bathroom stalls. Some of us could not find out way our of the bathroom.

Once we figured out how to exit the bathroom and the train station, we waited in a long line for 48 hour tickets for the tram. This is the greatest gift we could have ever given ourselves, Amsterdam, because the tram is really the only way to go from one end of the city to the other without wandering aimlessly behind drunk Spanish dudes and hundreds and hundreds of tourists from all over the world.

The thing is, Amsterdam, your city is teeming with history. Your canals are beautiful (the water is stank) and even though many of the buildings lining the canals are sinking, we think the architecture is beautiful. Personally, I enjoyed buying Heineken from the store and taking it with me on the boat tour where we learned a lot about the city, including how much litter people put INSIDE OF THE CANALS while they are on boat tours.

We walked your streets, got lost, saw the sights, teared up a bit in the Anne Frank HUIS and were well informed at the Van Gogh museum. There was a tender moment in Dam square (our least favorite place) when a white guy (Canadian? American?) with a guitar played “Wish you were here” and sang into a microphone and a swaying crowd gathered around him as the sun set behind the Madame Tussaud wax museum, but then he began singing a song by the band “Bush” and lost our attention, just like you did Amsterdam, when you really laid it out straight for us and we still had no idea.

We admire your progressive approach to marijuana and sex work, but the bottom line is that you, ciudad de Amsterdam, were a lot to handle in two days. We may never come back, but if we do, I only hope it is in our next life when we are reborn as three teenagers from Grenada just looking for a crazy weekend away from home.

Love,
Pam, Allison and Jennifer

through antwerpen to amsterdam

We said goodbye to our friends on Sunday morning and got on the train to Anterwep and Amnsterdam. We got off a bit too soon in Antwerp and had to get on another train to Anterwep central. Antwerp train station = best train station we have been in thus far. Big, red, old and “reminds me of how enormous & awesome the train station in Milan is” says Allison.

When we got to Antwerp central, we bought:

1 chocolate covered waffle
1 “big” order of FRITES with andalouse sauce (some kind of spicey mayo)

AND I FEEL SICK. More updates once we hang out in Amsterdam. Hopefully RAMON has wireless internet and a barf bag.

bruges and brugge

We got back to the house that night and T was amped. C was sick, and was in the bathroom. I can’t remember what Allison and J were doing. (a: we were talking to a VERY cute, sleepy ari on skype!!! we miss you, ari) T pulled out an plastic tennis racket and told me to touch it. I told him I did not want to, but he insisted. When I refused again, he touched it (pincher grasp) and shocked himself and yelled a little. I said, WTF and he said it was for killing bugs. He told me to touch it a few more times, and I did. IT HURT. But did not touch it with my tongue, like my other Portland buddies did months and months previously.

The next day, we woke up at 1pm after going to sleep at 6. We were planning on going to Bruges that day, and got a very late start but got on the train and made it to Bruges by 4:30.

T had told us that Bruges is a touristy FAIRYLAND full of big, really really old buildings and swans and horses. Bruges was intense. There were tons and tons of tourists and it was fairly comfortable speaking English there because so many different people visit the city. A few highlights of Bruges were:

The market and the boots both Jennifer and I scored. Allison found very cute shoes for Ari.

The playground we stumbled upon in the park, which was the best playground we had ever seen and had a tunnel slide that was very long and steep.

Swans and horses.

Eating FRITES in the center of Bruges at night.