Scenic Amsterdam

Or: The Edinburgh Exchange – Part 1

I was told many times before I left the States what a beautiful city Amsterdam was. “Such wonderful architecture!” people said, or “it’s so pretty with all the canals!” Perhaps it was due to these high expectations, or maybe just some bad luck when I arrived, but I wasn’t overly impressed with anything I saw for the first few weeks. Amsterdam is a wonderful city, to be sure, and I love quite a lot about it, but during my first few weeks here I became convinced that it wasn’t much to look at.

Part of the problem is that I live in an area that has been built up only very recently, and the path I travel most frequently (to and from class or the train station) is a mash of different structures and is often under construction. You could probably tell from my pictures of Funen that the architecture near my apartment is either of the cutting edge or functional variety, and the road I take to and from my classroom buildings is mostly nondescript. So when Tarra – who is studying abroad in Edinburgh – came to visit and asked to see the “pretty, old neighborhoods” I had to think for awhile before I figured out the path that I would show her.

Fortunately for Tarra, the weather was gorgeous. It’s been strangely not-rainy since I’ve been here. She arrived in Amsterdam on a Thursday night, and on Friday morning we set out under the brisk fall sunshine to see the town. I took her first past our windmill and down the street near the local zoo. This zoo/aquarium/botanical gardens/planetarium, Artis, is the oldest zoo in the Netherlands, and one of the oldest zoos in Europe. If you couldn’t sometimes see the animals through the fences, you’d hardly know it was zoo at all - the building façade is unapologetically 19th Century.

As we wandered past Artis and down Plantage Middenlaan, I realized I do know some pretty parts of town – they’re just not the parts I see every day. So with my map, my memory, and a little bit of luck, I led Tarra through the scenic side of Amsterdam. We strolled the rest of the way down Plantage Middenlaan and stopped to browse through some of the street market stalls near Waterlooplein. Then we walked for awhile along the Amstel river (whence both the city and the beer derive their names), where Tarra took pictures of all the famous wonderful architecture and lovely canals. By that point we were ready for some lunch, so we stopped at a falafel place near Kalverstraat (a large and busy shopping street) and enjoyed our meal in the sunlight along the side of a canal.

After lunch I took Tarra down a street called Bloemenmarkt, where a line full of vendors sell all sorts of flowers (or “bloemen” in Dutch) including many of Holland’s famous tulips.

We took lots of pictures of all the pretty blooms, and then made our way down Leidsestraat, a big street full of fun (albeit touristy) shops. Along the way we passed a tantalizing bakery where we were compelled to buy some delicious peach-raspberry muffins. Then we headed further down toward Vondelpark, where we reveled in the pretty greenery.

After that it was off to a cursory spin around Museumplein, and then we took the tram back over to Funen.

We ate dinner back in my room and rested for awhile before our only planned event of the day – a late night improv show of Boom Chicago. Boom Chicago is an American comedy group that decided to make Amsterdam its permanent home. It was raucous and loud and crazy and funny, and some of the audience was decidedly drunk. It was actually almost refreshingly American. After the show let out, however, it was so late that the trams and buses had stopped running. Fortunately, Tarra and I had known this might happen, and had mapped out the quickest way home ahead of time. It rained lightly for the first few minutes of our walk, but fortunately it stopped for the better part of our journey home.

After our very late and busy Friday, we slept in a little on Saturday morning. We ate breakfast and then headed out to see more pretty things – with a plan this time. I needed to see an exhibition at the Hermitage Amsterdam museum, so I took Tarra along with me. We were trying to get to the museum before it got too crowded, but there were so many fun and pretty little things along our way that we took longer than expected.

There was a massive line of elderly visitors trying to get into the museum when we got there, but it moved pretty quickly and went through the exhibition (a collection of decadently opulent artifacts from the Russian Court in the 19th century) in a couple of hours. We only saw half of the show, but there was plenty to see in that half. We spent a little while looking at the fancy things in the gift shop (and I found a cute cookbook of Dutch recipes – in English!) then headed back along the Amstel to have lunch and go shopping with Conny.

We had sandwiches for lunch at a cute café, and poffertjes for dessert. This brings my tally of Friends from Home Hooked on Mini Dutch Pancakes to 2. We followed our meal with a walk down Kalverstraat and a detour through one of the many H&Ms. When we were done with that store it was almost closing time, so we headed back to Funen for some dinner and a night spent resting and catching up on things.

Tarra’s flight left early the next morning, and I was pretty exhausted by the time I got back from dropping her off at the train to the airport. It was a nice, contented kind of tired, though. Before that weekend, I hadn’t seen Tarra since we left Williams back in May, and it was exciting and rejuvenating to see a close friend after all that time (not to mention in Europe!). But just like Kristin’s visit a couple weeks ago gave me license to be a tourist and appreciate all the fun main attractions in Amsterdam, Tarra’s visit made me remember and appreciate just how beautiful the city really is.

It would have been easy to spend another day finding more to see and spending more time catching up, but when Tarra left, it wasn’t hard to say goodbye – because I was planning to visit her in Edinburgh the following weekend.

Apeldoorn

Not this past weekend but the weekend before that I got a much-needed break from city living in the lovely rustic setting of Apeldoorn – a town to the southeast of Amsterdam which is home to the Paleis Het Loo and the Hoge Veluwe.

IES was leading this excursion, so everything was nicely set up and laid out for us. On Saturday morning we got up bright and early to meet our IES leaders Eva and Margarethe outside Funen, where we boarded a bus bound for our first stop: Paleis Het Loo.

The palace stables.

The palace peacock. It decided to hang out with us for awhile.

The Paleis Het Loo was built in the 17th century to serve as a country home for King William III and Queen Mary II of the house of Orange – you know, the ones the college is named after (note: not MY college). When William and Mary became joint rulers of the English throne as well, the palace underwent a fancy renovation and became one of the official homes of the Dutch royal family. Over the years it’s had a bunch of renovations done, but at the moment it serves primarily as a museum (the Dutch royal family now preferring to live elsewhere) which restorers have tried to faithfully return to its 17th century splendor.

We took slightly cheesy self-guided audio tours through the palace and then ventured out into the gardens, which are incredibly, ridiculously sculpted and beautiful.

Then it was back aboard the bus again and into Apeldoorn proper, where we dropped off our luggage at a hostel and then headed into the city center. A group of us wandered around for awhile before dinner, but it was close to closing time so there wasn't much to do. Fortunately, we stumbled onto a small park-like green, accentuated only by several trees, a strange sculpture, two stoners on a bench, and: a giant spinning toy!

The “toy” was actually some sort of twisty ride composed of a circular platform around a metal pole. There were four or five ropes coming down like a tent from the top of the pole to the edges of the platform. If you stand on the ground, grab a rope, and walk around the ride in a circle, the ropes wind up around the top of the pole. Then you jump on the platform and hang on for dear life as it whips around in the process of unwinding. So much fun!!!

By the time we had finished acting like five-year-old children (the stoners were unimpressed) it was finally time for dinner. And oh, what an epic dinner it was! We ate at the restaurant Jules Verne, where we were served what I can only properly describe as a marathon of a meal.

There were bottles of water sitting at the table when we arrived, and then everyone could order a soft drink as well. Then Eva and Margarethe ordered a round of wine for the table, and the waiters brought out some bread with butter and other spreads. Then the waiters took our orders. For an appetizer I got beef carpaccio with a delicious pesto and pine nut sauce, then for my main course I had an artfully prepared piece of steak. In addition to our entrees, the waiters brought out salad… and then garlic potatoes… and then vegetables… and then finally french fries with mayonnaise. Mmm.

We sat around for awhile after our plates had been cleared, and I was sure we were waiting for the check, but then the waiters were back again with plates of dessert for everyone! We had baked pear, strawberry mousse and a sampling of sorbet and gelato, and then those plates were cleared as well.

But - just when I thought we were finally finished, Margarethe and Eva ordered one last thing: a round of coffee or tea for everyone to warm us up before we went out into the cold night. When we finally did set out into the night it was nearly four hours after we had arrived. It didn’t take long for a couple of my friends and me to decide we wanted to head back to the hostel and crash.

After a cold and gloomy Saturday, the weather took a turn for the better – it was still chilly, but wonderfully bright and sunny. It was a good thing, too, because Sunday we were scheduled spend the majority of the day outside at the Hoge Veluwe. The Hoge Veluwe is one of the Netherlands’ oldest and largest national parks, and it’s absolutely gorgeous. It was easily the most trees and grass I’ve seen in over a month. Amsterdam’s a fairly green city, with a fair number of parks and trees, but it wasn’t until I was immersed in Veluwe that I realized how much I miss real nature.

We hopped on the free white bikes provided by the park and cycled leisurely around for awhile. This is what we saw:

Our white bicycles.

A hunting lodge.

Sweeping vistas.

After our lovely morning ride we stopped for lunch at the park’s restaurant. We then proceeded to wander through the sculpture garden of the Kröller-Müller Museum, and then into the museum itself.

Considering it’s smack in the middle of a national park, the Kröller-Müller Museum is an amazing collection of art. It was all collected by the couple that owned the expansive property that is now the Veluwe. They were apparently very rich and had very good taste, because it is a wonderful museum, housing an impressive display of Van Goghs (including this famous one), Seurats, Picassos, Piet Mondriaans, a smattering of Impressionist headliners, and some older and more contemporary stuff as well. .

Saturated with fresh air and fine art, we cycled back to the bus, where I half-read, half-dozed all the way home. I returned to Funen feeling very tired but wonderfully content.

Tourists

There are so many things to see and do around the city of Amsterdam that I could probably sightsee every day still not get to it all. However, most of the time I try my best NOT to act like a tourist, and instead to do my work and assimilate and attempt to live as “normal” of a life here as possible (it actually only took me a couple weeks to start judging the tourists here as harshly as any local). I’ve been spending the past couple of weekends indulging all those repressed impulses while traveling, but I haven’t spent as much time exploring around Amsterdam as I would like. Fortunately, I have friends who come to visit and give me an excuse to go do all the touristy things I wouldn’t be doing otherwise.

Last Friday, Kristin - who is studying abroad in London - came to visit for the weekend. I had promised her a weekend of fun Amsterdam adventures and enough delicious food to make up for the less-than-exciting culinary options of the U.K. The only thing Kristin said she had to do while she was here was see the Van Gogh Museum, so, after treating her to a stroopwafel and some bread with Nutella back in my apartment, I dutifully took her to Museumplein.

Museumplein literally means “Museum Square,” and it’s essentially a large grassy park abutted by the Rijksmuseum, the Van Gogh Museum, and the Concertgebouw, among other cultural treasures. It was actually my third visit to the Van Gogh Museum since I’ve been here, but it was my first time actually seeing the Van Goghs (the first two times I saw some temporary exhibits of Odilon Redon, Emile Bernard, and Alfred Stevens). As I expected, the paintings were stunning. Art Historian Jen was elated, and Tourist Kristin was fulfilled.

After a quick perusal of the museum shop’s wares, we wandered around Museumplein for awhile. But first, because no adventure (or blog post) is complete without them, we had to get waffles.

Waffle! (and Kristin)

All around Museumplein there are a bunch of painted elephant statues, which are part of something called the Elephant Parade. People from all over have decorate the statues and put them up around Amsterdam. They’re everywhere – on street corners, squares, parks, and even inside the train station. Eventually Christie's will auction them off to raise money for a charity that protects endangered Asian elephants.

Some of the Museumplein elephants were particularly well done, but our favorite by far was this one of President Obama, mostly because a random European guy asked us to take his picture next to it.

I so wish I had a copy of that picture, because it was very funny. The guy started out just sort of hugging the elephant, but before I took the picture he changed his pose and planted a kiss on the elephant’s trunk. I may have unintentionally encouraged him to do this by making an ambiguous hand motion. I was trying to direct Kristin out of the corner of the frame, but I think the man construed it as a sign to get cozy with Obamaphant. He told me it was a “great picture!” afterward.

We had dinner in Leidseplein (a nightlife hotspot on the weekends) at the Pancake Corner, where I introduced Kristin to the wonders of poffertjes and where we caught the tail end of an old Knight Rider episode on the TV. We watched the cheesy break-dancers on Leidseplein for awhle, and then headed back to Funen, where we crashed around 11:00.

On Saturday, Conny and I had some classic Amsterdam plans. We had dubbed it “Sexy Saturday” and decided we would use our visiting tourist as an excuse to explore a bit in the Red Light District. Even though Amsterdam’s notorious wares don’t have much appeal to either Conny or myself, it’s such a famous part of the city that you have to see it at least once while you’re here. By day the Red Light District is just like any other neighborhood in the city. It’s mostly a mixture of shops, casual restaurants, and small businesses. Granted, a preponderance of these places deal with sex work or softcore drugs, but there’s nothing inherently scarier about the location (in fact, the Red Light District has the reputation of being one of the safest neighborhoods in the city). By night it’s a little more crowded, a little more eerie with the actual red lights lit up and women lounging around in windows, but you’re more likely to have trouble with some drunken British tourists (Amsterdam is to the U.K. what Las Vegas is to the U.S.) than anyone else.

When we weren’t at one of our Sexy Saturday sights (the “Condomerie” in the afternoon and the Erotic Museum after in the evening) we walked around and ate more food. We got Kristin her mandatory cone of french fries with mayonnaise, and took our picture in this giant clog in Dam Square:

For dinner we ventured over to one of the more ethnically diverse neighborhoods near Funen for a Food Festival, where we had falafel, green curry, and an absolutely decadent chocolate tarte.

There was also a crazy reggae juice bar booth with its own sound system, DJ, and rastafarian-type workers assuring us that "juice and music" were all we needed for a good time.

On Sunday we didn’t have a ton of time or energy, so we stuck close to Funen. We explored “Rietland Park,” which turned out to consist of a patch of grass with a soccer cage and one lone swing.

Since that was a disappointment, we walked around by the canal for a little while, grabbed lunch at little deli nearby, and headed to my favorite spot: the café under the windmill. Our mission: chocolate mousse.

I love the windmill café, but the service there is agonizingly slow – in part because the waiters here don’t get tipped (and thus have no incentive to be particularly prompt or attentive), but in part because some of the windmill’s waiters (one waitress in particular) are incredibly spacey individuals. We managed to flag down spacey waitress without too much trouble, though, and we got our mousse within a reasonable time frame too.

That was when the British man sitting at the table next to ours commented (rather loudly) to his wife and daughter, “Wow! Look at those desserts!”

I must admit the windmill’s chocolate mousse makes an impressive display – a scoop of white chocolate mousse, a scoop of dark chocolate mousse, a dollop of fresh whipped cream and a tiny cookie on top. The man’s admiration was clearly well-founded. But, he didn’t stop there.

Man: Just think of how many calories must be in one of those things! You’d have to go to the gym for ten days to work off all of those calories.

Us: (askance) Um...

Man: (still loudly) You wouldn't have to eat for a whole week after having one of those! (then, to us) Sorry, girls.

Us: (uncomfortable sort-of-laughter)

At this point his small daughter asked, “What are calories?”

Man: Calories are what make you fat. You know – like the opposite of thin.

Us: Oh god.
Man: (reaching out to pinch his daughter’s belly) Like there, see? You have fat on your body.

Us: (imagining the years of eating disorders and subsequent therapy this poor girl is going have) Wow.

Conny, Kristin and I were horrified at the whole exchange. The girl’s mother said nothing throughout the entire thing, either. The little girl did try to hold her own, saying. “You have fat, too, Daddy! You eat too many chocolates!” Still, it was a highly awkward incident.

Calories notwithstanding, the mousse was excellent – the perfect end to a weekend filled with wonderful food. I took Kristin to the train station not long afterward and then I headed back to Funen, reflecting on something I’ve noticed about myself this year: I always love having visitors. At all the places I call home – whether it’s Frederick, Williamstown, Deep Creek Lake or now Amsterdam –. there’s something about looking at a familiar place through a tourist’s fresh eyes that makes me appreciate it all the more.

Side Note: Bruges

The long overdue Bruges entry commences. I apologize in advance for its lateness and its length, but you know you wanted all the juicy details…

The week after Maastricht was fairly unremarkable. Conny was off in Dusseldorf with the rest of the Rietveld Academy first-years, so I had the room to myself. It was quiet, so I finally got caught up with some reading and other school things.

Meanwhile, Stewart and I started scheming up travel plans again. We were bound and determined to get to Belgium, and apparently so were a lot of other IES folks. Word spread that we were planning a trip, and we ended up with a group of nine interested students. Information was gathered, rooms were reserved, and travel plans were made, and we went through the week in anticipation of spending the weekend in Bruges.

Of all places in Belgium, why Bruges? Honestly, we decided on it pretty randomly. Stewart had originally wanted to go to Brussels, and I was (and still am) game for that. But one of his friends mentioned that Bruges might give us the same taste of Belgium in a smaller, prettier, and more manageable bite, so we rerouted our plans in that direction.

Due to varying class schedules, we decided to split our large group into two smaller ones. The first group, comprised of five students (including myself) who didn’t have class on Friday, would leave Friday morning on the 9:54 train, while the second group would catch the 3:54 train after their classes were over. The first group would have time to eat lunch and wander around the city for awhile, and the second group would meet us for a late dinner.

That was what should have happened. But of course, nothing ever goes as planned.

The ticket machines at Centraal Station refused to accept any of our credit cards (apparently they’re supposed to take Visa, but every time I’ve gone they’ve only accepted MasterCard (or “Maestro” as they call it here). Annoyed, we headed to the international tickets wing of the station, where about ten desk spaces were being manned by about two employees. We waited in line behind a group of people who were so agonizingly slow it seemed like they were trying to book their next three years’ worth of train tickets. We had been there for nearly twenty minutes when we realized we would need to take a number before we would even be helped. We resigned ourselves to catching the next train, and finally got our tickets ten minutes after the 9:54 train had departed.

We were unsure of where to transfer trains, having heard conflicting reports to switch both at Antwerp and at Brussels. While either would have gotten us there in the end, we made the wise decision to ignore the advice of the large, talkative Dutch ladies sitting next to us on the train and jumped off at Antwerp, where I flagged down a conductor to direct us to the platform with our connection. After a much smoother journey than we had anticipated, we arrived IN BRUGES!*

Here we are ... in Bruges.*

*Naturally, we had to make as many cheesy dramatic references to the movie In Bruges (of which I’ve only seen the morbid last 15 minutes) as we could possibly cram into one vacation.

Group 1, consisting of me, Stewart, Adeola (also from Maryland!), Marie (also an Art History major!), and Tommy (also in IES – but I barely knew him before our trip) checked into our surprisingly respectable hostel about a ten-minute walk from the edge of Bruges proper. We picked up a great free map along the way, written by locals and aimed at young travelers, complete with a double-sided key for Bruges by Day and Bruges by Night, and tips on how to “Act Like A Local” (“1. Use your bicycle to run over tourists. It’s what we do as well.”). The map was full of helpful and humorous tidbits, the most exciting of which was mention of a restaurant that sold € 3 bowls of spaghetti. Feeling famished after our day’s travel, we wandered into the city to find this steal of a supper.

On our way we passed through the Markt – Bruges’ central square, which is surrounded by gorgeous old buildings, including an awesome bell tower and some nice shops.

Also this place, which should be my personal poster shop but which is actually a post office.

The Free Map did not disappoint. The restaurant, when we found it, was off the beaten path down a small alley full of Italian restaurants. Think little little Italy. The € 3 spaghetti was the “small” portion, but it was actually incredibly generous.

Marie, Tommy, and the best meal ever.

During dinner, Group 2 (consisting of four more girls: Kathleen, Tremaine, Joy, and Yuan) called, and told us that they had, unfortunately, missed two trains. The first because the same aggravatingly slow International Desk workers had taken too long to validate one of their Eurrail passes, and the second because they had missed an announcement telling them the train they wanted had switched platforms. They told us not to wait on them for dinner. Good thing.

Like in the Netherlands, most things in Bruges close at 6:00, with the exception of restaurants and bars. But Tommy wanted some french fries, and the rest of us wanted some waffles, so we looked around for some open restaurants to buy them. While we were eating our waffles, we got another call from Group 2. “We’re stopped,” they said. “We don’t know where we are, but the train’s not moving.”

We found out later that somebody had tried to commit suicide by running in front of the train ahead of the one that our friends were on. The person was unsuccessful, but the trains got backed up for at least an hour while thing got straightened out. Our friends simply asked if we would meet them at the station when they arrived in Bruges, since by then it would be dark and they didn’t want to get lost on their way to the hostel. Naturally, we agreed.

Meanwhile, it was time for a bit more wandering for Group 1. We strolled around, essentially window shopping, and then eventually decided to head back to the hostel and wait for our friends to arrive.

We saw some beautiful windows.

Adeola, Tommy, Stewart, Marie and I rested our feet, chatted, and played funny word games for the next two hours. We did our best to stave off exhaustion and summon up the energy we would need to trek back to the train station when the time came.

At around 11:30, Stewart’s phone rang. “Oh good,” we said, “Group 2 is finally here.” But when Stewart answered the phone we could all make out a hysterical Joy saying “No no no no NO! WE’RE IN THE WRONG PLACE!!!” on the other end.

Poor Group 2. Here’s what happened:

After their stopped train was finally able to get underway again, they arrived in Antwerp Station, having been only ten minutes away the whole time (had they known this, they would have jumped off the train and grabbed a taxi to Antwerp like some other passengers did). At Antwerp, much later than they should have been, they ran to an information desk and asked when the train to Bruges was. “21:06 is the last train,” the man at the information desk told them. “You can still make it, platform 13.” They sprinted to platform 13 and hopped on the first train they saw, but they didn’t end up in Bruges. It turns out the information man had misread his clock - the last train to Bruges really was at 21:06, but it was 22:00, not 21:00, when our friends had arrived. Kicked off their train at the end of the line in a town by the name of Kortrijk, late at night and in the middle of nowhere, our frantic friends asked a conductor how close they were to Bruges. His reply to them was, “very far.”

That was when we received the hysterical phone call.

All we could do from our hostel was look up how far Kortrijk is from Bruges (about 60km) and offer them some distant moral support.

We encouraged them to find a bar and call a taxi if possible, promising to split amongst the nine of us what was sure to be a fairly expensive fare. Fortunately, they were able to get a cab, and arrived at our hostel around 1:00 am.

Note: Those of you who had a hand in my formative years (I’m looking at you, family!) will be pleased to know that apparently I give off an air of wisdom and competence. At least, this is what I gathered when Kathleen greeted me with “All night we kept saying ‘I bet none of this would have happened if Jen were here.” This from a group of girls I’ve known for just a few weeks, and haven’t spent a lot of time with either. (I was also called the “sage,” “travel agent,” and “mom,” of the group at various points throughout the weekend, leaving me with a very funny self-image by the end.)

In the morning Group 1 grabbed breakfast from the hostel buffet, and managed to smuggle some packets of nutella, cheese, and a good half loaf of bread up to our recovering friends in the next room. Fortified with that, we set off into town.

Our second day in Bruges was decidedly touristy as we set out to milk every fun or pretty sight in the city for all it’s worth. We started with the Chocolate Museum and the Friets Museum, where we learned a lot about famous Belgian cuisine and, more importantly, got to sample some of it.

We also got to see some impressive artwork:

And get photographed next to giant depictions of food:

We moved on from there to the bell tower, where Adeola and I insisted we climb the 360 stairs to the top to take in the view. It was so worth it:

The bells were also ringing most of the time we were up there. It was almost overpowering, how pretty it was.

After the bell tower, some of us went to see Onze-Lieve-Vrouwkerk, which is a gorgeous old cathedral on the way back to our hostel. It’s filled with lovely statues, stained-glass windows, and 15th and 16th century paintings. It also has a sculpture by Michelangelo.

Unfortunately, the Groeningemuseum (which has a bunch of old Van Eycks and other cool Flemish painting) is closed at the moment, so the Michelangelo was the extent of my art history adventures.

After the church, we had our obligatory gooey, delicious Belgian waffles. Then we headed back to the hostel to rest.

You can never have too many waffle shots.

We ventured into town again for dinner, then we wandered around looking for things to do. Eventually most of the group set out to find something akin to nightlife, but Marie and I, who aren’t really big partiers, explored the center of Bruges at night (it’s not much different than in the daytime, but the lighting is pretty cool).

We also took some cheesy touristy jumping pictures.

When we returned to the hostel for the night, we found the rest of the group already there. They never managed to find any nightlife, but were entertaining themselves back in the room. Things got a little chaotic for awhile, but eventually we settled down to bed.

We left on Sunday morning right on schedule, and made it to Amsterdam by the late afternoon. Compared to our adventure getting down to Bruges, coming back to Amsterdam was a breeze.
I’ll admit I felt a little bad that not everyone in our band of travelers had an ideal travel experience. Mostly I think I just felt guilty that I was really enjoying myself while others were going through such an ordeal. At the same time, though, I really enjoyed the trip, and learned a lot about traveling, and about myself. I hope to go back to Belgium and see Brussels soon, but after two straight weekends of traveling, I’m also ready for a weekend spent at “home.”

P.S. I wish I could say these were all my own pictures, but I definitely borrowed quite a few from my friends here. When nine people go somewhere together, it tends to get really well-documented. Hooray!