Daisy May (Taken with instagram)

“Shit, or get off the pot.”  A saying from my grandmother.  Humble, isn’t it?  But, the deeper meaning is so much more: Do something with your life; you can’t just let life pass you by, you have to take an active role in it.  Therefore, tomorrow, will be a new awakening.  For as much as I want to go home, I believe I have a little more to experience over here.  It’s time to grab life by the balls, for lack of a better term, and wrastle it around a bit.  Yes, I just used “wrastle.”  Maybe I’ll do a bit of traveling again, I wouldn’t mind seeing Paris again or even taking a trip to Denmark, I’ve heard Danish guys are to die for.  I’ll take a bite out of that, no problem.  

However, another wise woman (my Mother) also told me, I’m in mourning.  Mourning for a past life that is no more and will never be the same - some things, yes, but not all of it.  I know that I’m confused, but what 24 year old that moves halfway around the world with only a little money and a college degree wouldn’t be?  Confusion is a part of learning, learning a part of growing.  I know it seems like I may be writing frequently, well I have been, and it’s refreshing.  It gives me a release - sometimes I don’t want the input of others, I just want people to listen, and that doesn’t happen very often, almost everyone has to throw in their two cents.  So, I laugh when people get up in arms about a blog, in my case it’s a form of freedom from the stress I am under constantly - it’s my opinions, they’re not bothering you, don’t stress.  Which is also why I love tumblr, no one can respond/comment/like/whatever to anything I do.  More freedom.  Love it.  

Another thing I heard recently, which, if you know me well, fits me perfectly: “How am I supposed to control my life if I can’t even control my hair?”  Look at me.  Case in point.  Nevertheless, I try.  Ergo, in the morning I will get up, have some breakfast, get on the bike and ride, to the grocery store, to the city, read by the lake, anywhere - it will be a new day and I fully intend to take advantage of it.  Even if my hair is out of control I can still enjoy myself.        

For now I bid you adieu, although I’m sure I’ll be back to complain, cry, entertain, whine, bitch, praise, ponder, regale, etc. soon.  I’m going to continue reading One Hundred Years of Solitude for the remainder of the afternoon - excellent book by the way.  Kisses.  

Greetings to my beloved readers back home and around the world.  I’m sorry for my inconceivable delay in writing about my overseas excursions, adventures and mishaps.  Pardon me for the following quick summaries of my European exploits, but I’m sure you don’t want to be reading this for years, so I’ll do my best to keep it moderately short while attempting not to bore you to death.  

Since my last writing I had just gotten to Prague, patiently awaiting the arrival of Vinson Guthreau, my Praha-partner-in-crime.  This experience, I’m sorry, will not be something I fully delve into, our adventures in Prague will be quelled to just an overview, as some things are just better left unsaid.  You can use your imagination as you wish.  With that said, Alcatraz, Saints, Termix, Valentino, and Celebrity Cafe will always have a place in my heart.  The few of you that have had a candid talk with either Vinson or myself will know the reasons why I choose not to discuss these places any further.  There are just some things that I enjoy keeping to myself.  I’ll let your mind wander.  

On the other hand, I will divulge some details regarding this evermore memorable week and a half stay.  Luckily, with very few pictures as evidence (Phew!).  Prague was a breathe-taking city with majestic green mountains encompassing this once communist country.  All the while, Prague Castle in all of its magnificent, mammoth and historical glory looming in the background, watching over its visitors, patrons and inhabitants alike.  The Czech people are truly a breed of their own, they are timid, yet friendly and out-going.  The analysis I provide seems a bit contradictory, but I feel these are the best descriptions.  While in Prague Vince and I met some great Brits and Australians that gave us a fun tour of the best haunts in Prague.  My whirlwind of a stay in Prague seemed as if it only lasted a few days, but in reality it was so much more.  Eleven days later it was time to me to continue my journey.  

Therefore, I shuffled onto Austria.

Vienna: A beautiful city, with a magical and imperialistic history.  From Prague to Vienna I traveled with an Australian I met along the way.  She was a great travel companion and so much fun - I truly have a new found respect for Australians.  Their outlook on life is always upbeat and refreshing.  As I throw my stuff into my hostel dorm I run into another American who immediately recognizes my accent through a simple “Hi.”  We immediately hit it off.  She was a charming girl from South Carolina, studying abroad in Rome.  I forgot how much I really love Southern accents and their Southern hospitality.  

Emily (Australia), Hannah (S. Carolina) and I decided to take an outing and go to dinner.  At the guidance of my Uncle Mart we went to a typical Viennese restaurant, called Salm Brau.  This restaurant was built in the old equestrian stables of the old Austrian royal palace - in a word: picturesque.  Throughout the restaurant old dark wood enclosed you making you feel at home - or comfortably sitting in a warm cabin with the fireplace going at your feet, the flames gently tickling your toes - with exposed beams and sketchings from when the building was meant for horses.  The restaurant was bustling.  Within 5 minutes of being there one could pick out the many different languages being spoken.  We ordered some great Austrian beers and had the recommended Viennese schnitzel.  Breaded veal with potatoes.  I know, it may sound a bit boring, but this was perfectly made, and doesn’t compare to any schnitzel anywhere else, not even mine.  The ratio of meat to breading was impeccable and the potatoes nearly melted in your mouth, with each bite one is overcome with a sense of utter fulfillment.  This, of course, was followed with rich and buttery Austrian beer.

That evening we meandered from the restaurant back to the hostel then onto a club called “Why Not?”.  Where, out of all the Austrian guys in the bar, I managed to encounter the one American who was in town for a few days playing in the Orchestra.  Over the next few weeks it would come to my attention on various occasions that apparently I just scream American, which I am fine with.  Over the next few days Emily and I would spend our time sightseeing and encountering more Australians.  (Australians were everywhere - it was great.)  During our last evening in Austria it began to snow.  The snow fell so delicately, as if Mother Nature was trying to paint a perfect snowscape, placing each snowflake with precision in order to achieve that idyllic, Thomas Kinkade backdrop.  

The morning came too quickly.  The sun came around.  The streets were plowed.  The temperature was above normal.  A despairing departure from Vienna.

I was on my way to Venice.  

Italy: The land of BMWs, skinny jeans, bubble jackets, and cheap wine.   

I arrived in Venice at about 8:00 p.m., I believe.  I was too awe-struck to actually check my watch.  I didn’t care.  I mean, who would.  I was in Venice.  Time suddenly stood still as I exited the train station and was immediately on one of the Grand Canals encompassing the city of Venice.  The city was calm and inviting, yet cast a transfixing air of mystery within its borders.  Venice is different.  Within minutes I could tell that I would be back to spend quite a few summer evenings strolling the mesmerizing canals sipping some sweet Italian wine.  The Italian shopkeepers lining the narrow streets were all closing up shop.  Slowly tucking away the typical Venetian carnivale masks and “I ♥ Venice” t-shirts.  

The directions that I received from my hostel were a bit ambiguous.  Take this street, over that bridge, through this alley, cross that canal.  Finally I arrived with luck.  My first thought when I entered: Oh God, please don’t let me die.  The hostel wasn’t in the best shape, but it would do.  I made quick friends with a few Portuguese girls who insisted on speaking to me in Spanish because their English lacked better linguistic skills and they were obviously a little tipsy.  It was entertaining.  An Australian guy hanging out with them and I immediately hit it off.  We would soon be traveling to Milan together.  I had a few cigarettes with them, called it an early night and headed to bed.  

My newly-made Australian friend and I decided to be sight-seeing buddies the next day.  Venezia was at our disposal.  Church after beautiful church lined the streets and canals of Venice.  I saw one of the most breathe-taking churches ever made.  Beautiful in every way.  It was full of gold inlays and monumental statues.  The floors and walls were all made of gold mosaics. The floors of the cathedral had begun to dip and groove as the cathedral was directly on one of the grand canals of Venice.  Such spectacular engineering and architecture can hardly be done justice over an amateur blog.

With the canals and winding streets at our disposal we took off.  Exploring each avenue, alleyway, street, canal - everything.  Supposedly because of the sea water Venice supposedly reeks during the summer, so note to self: Don’t visit Venice during the summer season.  Wrapping up our sightseeing for the day after getting lost in the heart of Venice and mingling with the locals and walking in what seemed like circles, and picking up some wine and food, we somehow ended up right in front of our hostel.  No joke.  It was a beautiful winter day and the balcony of the hostel was open for us its inhabitants to do a little spying upon passing tourists and locals alike.  This late afternoon voyeurism quickly led into dinner.

The operators of the hostel made a typical Italian meal for its patrons which brought out everyone including a neighboring hostel which was tradition between the two establishments.  Whoever said the French don’t like Americans is completely wrong because I mingled with some hot French boys who took quite a liking to Americans if you know what I mean.  That evening after the chaos of the dinner had settled the inhabitants of the hostel were led away by the keepers and showed the bars since one can easily get lost in Venice if a simple wrong turn is taken.  Debauchery ensued.  There must have been at least 15 different nationalities surrounding me and I couldn’t have been happier.  

After a few hours, me and about 6 Australians decided we were tired and headed back to the hostel.  Not without getting lost of course.  After finding Venezia Centrale (central station) we managed to guide ourselves back to the hostel.  Sleep.

I was awaken in the morning by rustling, jumped out of bed, checked out of the hostel and Giovanni (the Australian mentioned earlier) and I headed to central station to catch the train for Milano.  I don’t think I can ever reiterate the point enough: Trains are the best things ever invented.  Quick, convenient and easy.  There was a supposed strike of the railway workers that morning, but luckily we caught the train before the strike began.  Funny Europeans - you don’t tell them when you’re going to strike you just do it, isn’t that the whole point of a strike?  Anyway, politics aside, leaving Venice was incredibly sad for me, the city had captured a part of me and really took ahold of my emotions somehow.  I don’t know if it was the romance that seemed to linger in every street, or the uncertainty the canals held, but I was barely able to bring myself to leave, had I not decided to travel with someone, I probably would have stayed.   

So, Milan.  Not all that it’s cracked up to be.  Honestly, it’s a bit dirty, the people aren’t very nice and even though as nicely dressed as I usually am I felt a bit underdressed because almost every male in the city was in a suit or designer clothes.  Saw the remarkable cathedral that was over 600 years in the making, experienced gelato and had some great sandwiches followed by more wine.  No canals, ancient streets, or fun atmosphere, just urbanization sprinkled with retailers.  This lasted a few days, more than enough, now it was time to leave.  On the third day I headed to the airport to take my flight to Barcelona, only find out, I had booked the ticket for the following day and had written everything down wrong.  Ugh.  Stuck in a miserable city, even if it was Italy, for one more day.  I took the train back to Milano Centrale, hopped on the underground and planted myself back in my hostel and made myself known at a local bar.  In the morning I woke up revived and ready to get the hell out of Milan and to Barcelona.  At least I could speak the language there.

By now I’m sure you are all dying of boredom, so hopefully this next segment will get the blood flowing a little more.

The plane landed, I can’t remember if I had a window seat or not, but I do briefly remember gazing out the window onto the coast and seeing the waves silently splash against the beach.  The site was idyllic.  I departed the plane and was finally bound for the city.  The green rolling hills are something out of a storybook, not even the best literary artist could do these hills and surrounding beauty justice.  Think San Diego/Catalina Island, but 100 times more beautiful.  There had been a light dusting of rain right before I arrived, one could smell the vitality and freshness in the air.  It fills your lungs with indescribable pleasantries - a calm rushes over you, and you know in that moment something new is about to begin.  

Leaving the airport I was thrilled I could actually read the signs, I know what things meant, everything will be okay.  I find the train station to take me to the Metro.  Easy.  Take the Metro to my designated stop.  Beyond easy.  Metros are on of the best things ever invented, only second to trains.  I follow the streets to the hostel.  I pass Tiffany, Ferragamo, a Prada store, H&M, Zara, the list goes on.  I try to take everything in without getting lost.  Step in a few puddles.  I’m in heaven.  Did I die on the Metro and just haven’t realized it?  I have arrived at my hostel.  Up a flight of stairs, the door is unlocked (strange?) and I go in.  I throw my bags down and take a deep breath.  The humidity and warm air breathes a new life into me.  I throw my things in my room, change and lay down on the couch, beginning to make a plan of action for the next day.  Side note: Spain is so relaxed it almost frightens me.  How does anything ever get done?  But it manages.    

Onward, oh yes, cue drunk Irish guys in town for a “stag” (bachelor) party.  They were great though.  Incredibly hilarious.  I really do love the Irish, even though I can’t understand them half of the time - I swear they mumble/mesh all of their words.  We drank a bit, they headed out and I stayed in.  Soon after one of the owners managed to get about 10 of us together to watch a movie, which was great, I was too tired to go out, it was late and I was exhausted from traveling.  

During the next three days I saw everything I could, the Picasso Museum, La Sagrada Familia, the Cathedral, the other Cathedra, another church, the Ocean, Parc Guell, La Rambla, the Farmer’s Market, the shopping district, the Gothic district (Barri Gotic), and more.  I even met some natives and were taken around to the different areas and graciously shown around.  At night I dined on tapas and Spanish wine (wine got expensive, so that turned into water, sometimes beer).  It was all so amazing.  Every place I went was different, and always breathe-taking.  One day after getting lost in the expansive Farmer’s Market, I popped out of a back, side entrance and into the Muslim neighborhood.  I swear I was the only blonde white kid in 100 yards; but it was fun, people smiled and greeted me, assuming I was a lost tourist, which they were right, I was.  I sat down, took out my trusty map (which the hostel thoughtfully highlighted and marked all of the best things to do) and tried to make heads or tails of where I was.  Thinking I might know where I was, I headed for the beach.  I hear seagulls.  Great.  Bam!  I stumble upon the beach.  I sit down with some fruit purchased from the market, relax and enjoy the beach.  It’s cloudy, but that’s ok.  It’s beautiful and tranquil nonetheless.    

The next few days and nights I went out and met some amazing people, namely some pretty amazing guys, which I would have the opportunity to get to know the next few nights (and dance until 9 a.m. with - remember the Spanish don’t go out until 1-2 a.m.; and we thought people in Nevada went out late - ha!  Arena will forever be remembered) and had a grand time that can never be replaced.  Nights I’ll never forget, eternally engrained in my memory.  I also had the opportunity to visit the adorable picturesque town outside of Barca called Sitges.  Apparently the gay hub during the Summer, which you could tell even during the winter.  Mark my words, I will be there during the summer.  Spain can’t get rid of me that easily.  

Barcelona truly stole my heart for the 11 (maybe 12, it’s a bit fuzzy nowadays - it was long nonetheless) days I was there and continues to hold a special place, it is definitely tied with Prague as my favorite place I’ve journeyed to.  If I could have it my way I would live in Spain for the rest of my life, there is nothing like it and nothing rivals it.  

After one more mishap regarding the airport, I was headed back to Amsterdam.  I can’t ever seem to get anywhere on time anymore, I don’t know if I was always that bad or if it just became exacerbated since I’ve been over here.  With tears in my eyes and a heavy heart I watched the city center slowly fade away as we pulled back from the train station and sped towards the airport.  Everything becoming skewed as these foreign tears began flow.  I tried to watch as we left the ocean, Barcelona, newly made friends and Spain behind, but it was too hard and I napped for I knew when I would awake I would be someplace else, someplace I knew.  My journey had come to a close.      

I will never be able or try to replace my experiences that I’ve had while over here.  All I can do is keep them forever alive, never letting them fade, and always making new ones to go along side them.  This is not the end of my journey though, this is merely a stepping stone, an opening of a door, a taste of what the world has to hold.  It’s like popcorn, you can’t eat just once piece, you want a few handfuls before you’ll be satisfied.  Enjoy life, because you never know when it will be taken away from you.   

I have a few more postings left then I believe it will be time to sadly close this blog and start a new one.  Alas, all good things must come to an end, but really, this is just a chapter coming slowly to a close, not the entire book.  Good night, my friends.  I hope you have enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed experiencing it.    

We all come to a cross-roads in our life.  Usually on a daily basis, a decision must be made usually right when we wake up.  ”Do I press the snooze button or do I get up and get my day started?”  These, of course, are the little day-to-day decisions that one normally comes across and we think little of it, we make the decision and move on with our life.  For most decisions that we make there usually comes some regret.  ”Should I really have eaten that doughnut this morning when there was fruit right next to it?”  These are simple indiscretions which we accept with a grain of salt and continue about our daily activities.  The bigger decisions in life are the ones that haunt us the most.  Such as moving to a different country.  Now, in theory, with proper planning and guidance these are incredible ideas which if executed correctly can lead to wondrous opportunities.  If not, you are left feeling alone and helpless.  

I unfortunately, being misguided and naive, have developed the former of those two scenarios.   I have fallen ill with feelings of depression, anxiety, loneliness, boredom (i.e. Reading every book I can get my hand onto), and a sense of loss.  I have come to categorize these feelings as buyer’s remorse.  In fact, a deep feeling of remorse.  I made the decision to stay in Europe to help me obtain a new outlook on life, thus changing my life and further assisting me in growing, which I believe has occurred.  

I do, truly, love this country in which I reside, but I feel like a part of me has died.  I hate to say it, but my Father was right, I was a bit too hasty in staying here.  As all children usually are, I took little heed to the advice and moved ahead with my plans.  But I realized this quite a while ago.  Thus, at the moment I am in limbo.  Do I stay, attempt to start what I began or go back home, release the skeletons in my closet and thoroughly bury them?  Throughout the day I have stayed cooped up in my room, making a comprehensive list of the pros/cons of staying and leaving; in addition to going over my finances - reducing this, cutting that, saving here.  But, as I’ve been told and come to appreciate, happiness doesn’t have a price tag.  

So, the most important thing is my happiness, right?  Or am I being overzealous?  I believe I am not.  Hitherto, I have attempted to take my mind off of the emotions weighing on my heart, but as I push them aside certain thoughts slowly creep into my head, “Are you masking what you really want, are you trying to give yourself an early heart attack, or a complex of some kind?”   

My time abroad has been irreplaceable and nothing can take that away from me.  The memories I have made will last forever and will continue to leave a lasting impression. Consequently, a decision must be made.  Questions must be posed that require conclusive answers: Where am I most happy?  What makes me happy?  Who makes me happy?  A definitive answer must be made.  One that demands only my input and only for myself.  Call me selfish, but an unalienable right which I wish to assert is the pursuit of happiness.  I know there will be bumps along the way and it won’t be easy, but after all this is life, no one said it was going to be a cake walk, moreover I also don’t care to put myself into an early grave with incessant worrying and stress.  

With that said, what do I do?  As I sit here and look out my window at the setting sun and wonder is it time to put this journey to bed or continue running after it?  I wonder though, by running after it am I also running from my problems?  I just might be; which means it might be time to stop, breathe and do a thorough assessment of the terrain.

Life isn’t worth living unless you’re happy and I intend to live a long, long time.   

The past week or so has been a complete whirlwind of experiences intermixed with an array of overwhelming emotions that would take far more than this blog to describe and some of these can hardly be conveyed by words, but I will do my best.  

Berlin was amazingly spectacular, however, I was unfortunately incredibly sick for the majority of the trip.  I don’t know what I would have done had my Aunt and Uncle not been there with me.  I was literally dead to the world for a straight 48-hours.  I believe getting lost in the rain in Antwerp exacerbated whatever may have already been traveling through my system.  Therefore, when I got to Berlin, actually on the flight, I was all of a sudden hit with a debilitating cold.  

The view from my hotel window was quite lovely though.  Snow began to fall the first day I was in bed, which turned Berlin into a beautiful winter wonderland.  Let me back up for a moment though, the night we arrived in Berlin we had dinner at this great German restaurant, the name translated into English meant House of Potatoes.  Literally, everything revolved around potatoes or had a potato side dish.  I had potatoes au gratin with chicken (it sounds plain, but it was amazing) and the best potato salad ever.  This was sadly followed by 48-hours of being bedridden as previously described.  Sad, but true.  

Side note:  The Dutch don’t believe in selling cold medicine with any crazy chemicals in in them in grocery stores, i.e. DayQuil, NyQuil, etc.  Mainly homeopathic means of healing.  Although, Berlin was on a whole different level, cold medicine with chemicals appeared and all was soon right in the world.  

With only really two days left to see the sights I got in as much as my wounded body could handle.  I saw the Pergamon Museum on Museum Island, which houses some of the most beautiful art from Babylon, Greece, Rome and Egypt.  The art was so stunning and breathe-taking.  It was moving, to say the least, knowing thousands of years ago such art was constructed and has withstood the test of time whilst enduring the beatings and wars of man.  Also, I was able to see the Altes Museum which houses the Bust of Nefertiti among many of fabulous Greek and Roman sculptures, some battered, beaten and altered due to the rise of Christianity in the following centuries, but still beautiful nonetheless.  

Lastly, I took a quick detour inside the Berlin Cathedral where choir practice was taking place with an orchestra.  Such awe-inspriring music was taking place that I did not want to leave or take my attention away, one could simply get lost in the music for hours, which is exactly what I almost did.  Having to leave, after already spending too much time in the cathedral, I rushed off and in my quick pace took one wrong turn too many and somehow ended up in an underground tomb of sorts, confused, but wanting to see what I had gotten myself into I proceeded to wander (as it is what I do best sometimes).  The graves were of old German nobility from the 16th to early 20th centuries.  

I decided the best thing was to leave and head back to the hotel as I was already 2 hours behind schedule.  

That evening I caught up with the fam and we went throught the exhibition, “The Story of Berlin.”  It was quite sad, but quite moving, and very long.  Germany, Berlin in particular, has gone through considerable amounts of grief throughout the years.  

The next day we walked around Berlin, saw the remaining parts of the Berlin Wall, another sad fete.  Following this it was time to say goodbye to my Aunt and Uncle as they were heading back to Holland and I was staying in Germany two more days to do some shopping.

Shopping was a complete success.  Now I remember why I shouldn’t be allowed in H&M or near large fashion squares.  Let me also just say, German boys are gorgeous and I was in heaven.  

The next day I headed out to the main train station to catch my train to Prague.  So, I got my train ticket, stowed away my backpack for a bit, and was able to get some food and relax.  Side note: Nothing can beat European bread or cheese.  I collected my backpack and headed to the right platform waited for my train and watched people get on it and continue to leave, only to realize after the fact that that train had been mine and I had just missed my train.  Panic set in.  I didn’t know what to do, I was alone, confused and now possibly ticketless.  Luckily, a semi-friendly woman at the Deutsche Bahn information desk told me to hang out two hours and catch the next train that came along to Prague.  Phew.

2 hours later + 5 hour train ride = arrival in Prague.  Let me first say, that English is not nearly as widely spoken in the Czech Republic as it is in Germany, the people are much more friendly, but the language barrier creates a problem.  So far Prague has been really great.  It’s not as clean or as easy to navigate as Germany, but the friendliness of its inhabitants makes up for it.  Also, the Czech Republic isn’t on the Euro yet either, which has gotten my math all mixed up when calculating currency conversions and I think I got royally ripped off on a cab ride from the train station, but couldn’t really tell right away because everything was in Czech Crowns.  Oh well.  C’est la vie, I suppose.  You live and learn and after all, this is a learning experience.  

I saw Old Town in Prague yesterday, it was very endearing, so much has happened over the centuries in such a small area.  It’s raining today, so I figured doing a bit of blogging and catching up on news back in the States would be fitting.  I’m supposed to be meeting a best friend of mine in two hours who is coming to Prague for the week and I couldn’t be more excited to see a familiar face again.  Traveling alone is rather nice, but can be a bit lonely sometimes.  Normally a package of sour patch kids would be sure to help this, but alas, my sour little friends are nowhere to be found out here.  

Prague for a few more days then off to Vienna and continuing on to Italy for some hopefully warmer weather.  

Belgium is absolutely amazing.  It’s a beautiful country with gorgeous, friendly people and fantastic food.  The shopping was also incredibly great.  Down one of the main thoroughfares, Nationalestraat, there are quaint little boutiques lining the streets, with a pub or cafe thrown in here and there.      

After checking into the Banks Hotel, a very modern and sleek establishment with a very smug fellow running the front desk, we ventured off to The Cathedral of Our Lady.  The Cathedral was very moving and a bit emotional, few were there praying, most were tourists.  The Cathedral was cold and a bit dark, but completely and utterly awe-inspiring.  The Cathedral was filled with masterpieces by the Baroque artists Peter Paul Rubens, Otto van Veen, Martin de Vos, among others.  They were truly masterpieces, some as tall as houses.  The details of the paintings were so fine, obviously not a single detail was overlooked.  The altarpieces were breathtaking and just oozed opulence.  The paintings and statutes throughout the Cathedral truly portrayed the influence and affluence of the Catholic Church.  

After the Cathedral we wandered around for a bit through Grote Market, during the evening people from all over the city came to congregate on the square, a mini-festival type gathering, if you will.  We chose a seafood restaurant (which the name escapes me at the moment) that was absolutely to die for.  It was very hole-in-the-wall and cozy.  Side note: Europe truly does have the best food in the world.  

Following dinner we went and wandered the streets of Antwerp, got lost multiple, multiple times - traumatizing - but fun.  We eventually managed to get a taxi after we almost ended up in some industrial area/ghetto.  

The next morning came shopping and lunch - I snagged some eco-friendly, organic underwear.  Lunch was chosen to take place at a delicious Italian restaurant named A Modo Mio.  I munched on a scrumptious pizza with pepperoni, ham, shrimp, bell peppers, onions, olives, and mushrooms toppings.  

Following lunch we packed it up and headed on back to De Kwakel - the storybook village I’m staying in while in Holland. 

One a side note: Amsterdam was astonishing and sensational.  I will be discussing this tomorrow or the next day.  I have a housewarming party to go to tomorrow and then off to Berlin on the 5th.

Goede nacht.   

Amsterdam / Antwerp

I hold it true, whate’er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
‘Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.