And so it begins…

Although I had been looking forward to this trip for months, leaving the desert was not the most pleasurable of experiences. Feeling the nasty side effects from Thursday night’s long island ice tea spree, Friday morning was spent wandering aimlessly rather than packing previously. My mother will frown now.

My roommates were thoroughly enjoying the early morning entertainment, chirping in when it was least needed, “Dave, you got everything?” Mental checklist: wallet, passport, socks, brain? Whichever list I should have composed was now mocking me with its non-existing laughs. But I knew I’d be laughing the entire way to Amsterdam, so I bear-hugged what I needed and abandoned what I didn’t.

Before long I was in Amsterdam, except that expression doesn’t do the 14 hours at 35,ooo feet any justice. Schipol International Airport was definitely a sight for sore eyes and my buttocks eventually awoke on the way through immigration. My customs experience went smoothly and my bag even made it, despite a 10 minute connecting time between my flights in Houston. As I left baggage claim, my generous dutch hostess welcomed me (Welkom) and before I knew it we were in Almere, a suburb 25 minutes outside of Amsterdam.