travelogue

I realize now I don't have much to say about my trip. Or much to show for it. The pictures from Amsterdam came out way too dark, even the ones I shot in late “morning,” and way too typical, full of thick bikes and skinny houses. The city is doing this 400th anniversary of Rembrandt thing, so there was a really cool sculpture of “Nightwatch” in Rembrandt Square that lets you get inside the painting (I pretended to kick the little dog), but the coolest thing about being in Amsterdam (again) was being able to call it Amstradam Pikipikiram a thousand times. Maybe it was only funny the first.

It was cold in America. I could never decide which coat to wear, one a little too thin and the other a little too bulky.

On the second day, I met my best friend for lunch. She had also flown halfway around the world to be there. She told me to think about what I want, not what seems possible. Her partner says she wants a genderless relationship, so we also talked about what this could mean.



Two days after that, the table was elegantly set for Christmas Eve dinner, which was later cancelled. My first thought was that at least my mom’s antique chairs would remain intact, not having been sat upon and humiliatingly broken by various members of my extended family, as has been known to happen in years past. I really want her to replace those chairs. People just aren’t so dainty anymore.



Bego was a snob, but she's so darn cute.



After Christmas, we headed north and toured an area so full of memories for me I could hardly stand it. But none of those memories were ever shared with anybody in the car. We spent the next day swimming upstream at the (very crowded) National Aquarium in Baltimore. The dolphins were nice.



Closer to home, the nicest day was spent in the nicest place, a former president’s mansion in the Piedmont (aptly named). This place is a 20-minute drive from where my parents live, in the heart of horse country.



On one final excursion, we headed up the mountains, but unfortunately Skyline Drive didn’t exactly live up to its name. Half the road was closed due to ice and the other half was invisible due to fog, which of course led to lots of jokes about being “lost in a fog.” It was a metaphor with potential.


No sooner had I set foot back in Greece than Greece started quaking beneath me. I may have traveled far, but I ended up right back where I started, a little shakier.