musings

I feel so priviliged here. In the hostel I mean. I feel like a spoiled, empty-headed American student with too much money and not enough to do. You know the whole "wasting her life in Paris" remark? It's possible I think. But only if you take a very active stance against mingling with anything other than what you already know.

I only feel like this in the hostel- on the bike tour today I felt exhilrated and decided that if I ever get the chance, I want to live on a house boat. Preferably on some body of water that I could row on. Also, I would like a bike- and a city that I can safely bike in. Like, not Baltimore. I spent a bunch of time talking with a flight crew from Continental Airlines, and a group of friends from VA who were visiting a friend who spent the last year in Iraq. I also bought cheese. It was very tasty cheese from a dairy farm that makes cheese and wooden shoes. The farmer there speaks 15 languages. I feel so inferior. No tulips though, sorry about that.

After the tour I got lost, but eventually found Vondel Park. (I think that is the name...) It is a lovely place. My philosophy with parks is this: follow the sound of drums. This time it lead me to two groups sitting less than 30 feet from eachother. A group of Africans with a djembe and a guitar, and a group of --Aregentinians? (I only guess that because there seems to be a sizable Argentinian population in Amsterdam) They were trading off who was playing songs. It was really cool; right before they both packed up and left the park the guitarist from the "Argentinian" group went over to the African group and taught them to play 'Guantanamera' so I sang along under my breath from my vantage point up the hill and under a tree. I think the coolest part was that neither group was busking- they were both playing for the social aspect of it, for the joy of it. The "Argentinians" were a whole family group that had even set up a tent to shelter the toddlers, and the Africans were in a huddle around the bench that the guitarist and drummer were sitting on and they were dancing and eventually someone started using two bottles as another percussion instrument.

I had dinner at an Indonesian restaurant tonight: Bojo. or Boja. I'm terrible at remembering restaurant names. It was interesting, I don't need to go there again. It was nice to have a real dinner though- I haven't bought sit-down food much on this trip. And by "much" I mean this is the first time.

Tomorrow I'm returning to London, going dancing at the Cecil Sharp house again with my Australian La(u)ra buddies (and hopefully Kateri too), and will finally meet Aneta et al. Should be good.