My host rounds the corner of the international bus terminal parking lot in her vintage, white Range Rover, blaring the horn as she comes to a complete stop at my feet. ‘Twas seven months prior we bonded over long bus rides, salt & vinegar chips, and failing relationships through the north and south islands of New Zealand. My stopover in Brussels practically cementing our inevitable reunion – considering the short distance between the two cities. All too enchanted to make my return to the land of steep staircases and beauty by body enhancements, we make two stops before we secure a parking spot in her neighborhood, the grocery store and the local coffee shop.
The markets in this part of town must come with a predetermined ratio of physically fit, good-looking men. Their presence is the only distraction from mine being overwhelmed by the sheer size of this store. My mind once again attempts to wrap itself around the western mentality of consumption as we waddle down aisles of canned, boxed or plastic sealed goods. At the checkout, I smile at the young woman behind the counter and say hello in English to alert her I won’t understand her greeting and propositions for a frequent buyers card or promotional giveaways in Dutch. Her dark hair is pulled into a loose ponytail revealing her darkened eyebrows, penciled in to feed the illusion there are more hair and shape than there naturally is – I can relate. She smiles back at me returning my greeting in English before swiping my selections across the metal surface housing the red lasers that communicate the item and its price to the station keypad and screen.
Back at the flat, the modern-style kitchen is highly animated. A concerto of metal knives on sodden cutting boards and splashes of h2o pouring from the faucet in between girl talk and lighter swaps. Three repeat rejections of my offers to assist find me on the couch, nose and thumbs glued to the screen of my smartphone. Doing my best to socialize in between scheduled posts and client engagement I dart my eyes between the three girls holding conversation five feet from me and the Twitter notifications it’s my paid duty to navigate. When dinner is almost ready I gather the cutlery and glassware to set the table. The four of us filter in and grab an empty seat and dig in.
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I crack my swollen eyes open and wait for them to focus. My sight settles on a flock of birds soaring overhead through one of two daylighting windows of the attic space that is the guest bedroom of this two-and-a-half-story apartment. The buzzing of busy bees is accompanied by the throaty gurgle of birds in the trees behind the building. A cool breeze rushes in, caressing my chin as it dances into the open space above the comfy mattress that swallowed my exhaustion with ease. My severe allergies, not so much. The early reverie of these nature calls is disrupted by the explosion in my olfactory zone as five consecutive sneezes force me upright and fumbling through my purse for some tissue. Sixteen hours (give or take) of sunlight each day gives the air-born pollen plenty of time to torment me. Half-naked bodies with golden skin are the forefronting contrast against the handsome saturation of emerald green treelines. They lie there, refusing to waste the accessibility to the omnipotence of that dynamic orb soaking in every ray to maintain the perfect tan. The sun hangs high in the bright blue sky often until an hour before midnight.
Dusk adds a natural filter to the scenery, adorning the high arches of Dutch architecture. The warm embrace of eventide greets me as I exit the Ann Frank House Museum. Having failed to make a reservation before tickets sold out last Summer, I vowed upon my return to Amsterdam I would not repeat the same mistake. Minding the swift, oncoming bike traffic, I settle at the edge of the canal before me and take a seat. I need more than a moment to process the information and visuals obtained inside. I watch the boats drift by one after the other letting the repetition soothe me. I reflect on the day’s adventures and give thanks to my source energy (gratitude) and then the universe for its blessings as I lean back, my palms flat on the walked-over payment, and people watch. Taking a moment to be mindful of this space. I listen intently to the sounds around me; the humming of boat engines, cackling laughter, chirping bird calls and the soft slapping of the river Amstel. The warm sun on my face is like tinder to the words on fire in my mind. These fleeting moments of recognition come quickly on congested days like today full of adventure, spontaneity and genuine exchanges of positive energy. For as long as I’ve been locked in an internal battle over my personal definition of what happiness feels like to me, this moment resonates as the closest I’ve come to my understanding of what it could be.
