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.