Amsterdam

Well. It’s 6:41 am and Janet (mom) and Fred have just left me. I’m currently laying in their hotel room waiting for free breakfast downstairs before I catch my flight to Helsinki–>Bangkok–>Ho chi Minh city! I arrived here last Thursday (after my three day flight from hell), and waited outside the baggage claim area for mother and Fred. After my traumatic few weeks with the dia, it was good to see familiar faces.

We quickly navigated to the hotel shuttle pickup and arrived at the Hyatt Park Hotel, just minutes away from the airport, where the rest of the marching band was staying. I was starving. After ditching our bags and discovering we were in the middle of nowhere, we trekked about a mile to the nearest restaurant. Bitterballs!

The first day was otherwise uneventful, as we all recovered from long flights and jet lag.

Friday we woke up a bit more refreshed, and boarded the band bus (which turned out to be the Amsterdam’s soccer teams) to head to the tulip gardens. My mother was thrilled (of course), but i can’t say I blame her—it was pretty incredible to see the amount of care and beauty in a place that’s only open 7 weeks of the year.

When we arrived back at the Hyatt, I took a nap before packing up my things and heading into the center to find my hostel. I was somewhat on a tight schedule, as I was supposed to navigate to the middle of nowhere in order to watch the marching band in a parade later that evening with my cousin, Margaret. So, naturally, I got on the wrong train going in the opposite direction and found myself 45 minutes out of Amsterdam in Dan Haag. Slightly annoyed, I finally arrived at my hostel, exhausted and severely pressed for time.

I had barely set my bags down before Margaret texted asking where we should meet. I can’t say I was looking forward to turning around and getting back on the train, but after getting directions, I told her I might be an hour or so late judging from the two hour trek i was about to embark on. By the time I exited the train to transfer to the bus, the sun was setting and I was surrounded by a sleepy little town with hardly anyone in sight. Dusk creeped in, and I wondered vaguely if getting to this parade would be the night I got kidnapped.

Finally, the bus arrived and I boarded, showing the driver where I wanted to go.

“Parade is there, we’re skipping that stop.”

Of course we are.

After reassuring me he’d let me off as close to the town as possible, I settled into my seat. Eventually, after walking/running a mile to the beginning of the parade, I found my cousin and we cheered my mother and Fred on from the sidewalks. And just like that, the parade ended and it was well into the night and we were stranded.

I texted my mom telling her we needed a ride back to town with the band, at which point she called me to say they had boarded the buses but she was trying to stall them.

Margaret and I had just polished off an entire pizza when my mother told us to run the mile to the buses before they left us behind. Halfway there, holding my stomach and trying not to throw up as I chased after Margaret, my mother told us the buses had gotten tired of waiting and had left.

Margaret and I paused to catch our breaths, surveying the empty fields and small cottages that lay around us. The marching band had ditched us. We were screwed.

Long story short, an Uber driver came

To our rescue (after a near dog attack) and drove us the hour back to the city.

By the time i crawled into bed at 1 am, i was utterly drained. That’s when the real magic happened. It was about half pst three in the morning when the itching woke me up. I knew immediately from the small raised bumps on my face that I was being attacked by little red visitors. Sure enough, using my flashlight to shine a light onto my bed, i found the bed bugs. Wearily, I snapped photos of them and decided to head to reception to sleep in the common area until it was morning. A sign on the door greeted me, informing me that reception would be closed until 8 am. I had 4 hours to kill.