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xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx · 6 years

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A Diner Love Song - Ryan Seaman x Reader

Request: Hey! I saw that you write Dallon so do you by any chance also write Ryan Seaman? I’ve been looking for Idkhow fanfics for forever :(

Word count: 2 325

You had known Dallon for a long time, all the way since elementary school and you had always been involved into his music one way or another, even though you had never been officially part of the bands he was in. Mostly you had helped to set up stages, sell merchandise or you had played additional instruments. So when he had asked you, if you wanted to be part of his new project, a duo called ‘I don’t know how but they found me’, you had said yes immediately, even though you had not met his partner, a man called Ryan, yet.

When you met Ryan for the first time, you had been quite impressed by him. He seemed to be a sweet guy, tall, brown hair and warm brown eyes. You had kicked off the conversation by talking about one of your favorite bands, Green Day, that he also liked a lot. Dallon had stood at the side, watching you with a happy grin on his face, obviously glad that the two of you got along so well.

Now, two years later, Ryan had become one of your closest friends. You spent a lot of time together, mostly while the band was practicing, or writing music. You usually attended these sessions, since Dallon was always glad to have your creative mind at his side for help. You sat on the floor, in the middle of spread out music sheets, your gaze flickering over the pages, trying to ignore the distracting presence of Ryan.

Yes, you had started out with thinking he was really sweet, but by now you were hopelessly crushing on the drummer. When he had come to one of the meetings a few months back with blue dyed hair, he had seemed nervous about your reaction, but you had just been happy that he had found an additional way to express himself.

You reached for one of the pages in front of you and quickly read its contents.

“Hey, Dallon, were you looking for this?”

You handed the tall man the sheet on which a few lines of text were scribbled.

“Oh, yes, thanks,” he took the paper from you and walked over to Ryan. He had been looking for it for almost five minutes now, a few text ideas that he seemed to have noted down a while ago. “Do you think we can make something out of this?”

Ryan’s eyes scanned the paper and flickered over to you.

“Uh, yeah, sure, looks good I think,” he answered, but you could tell he had something else on his mind.

“Great,” Dallon smiled, “Maybe we can all get one of the lines and see what else we can do with it?”

“I wanna write a love song,” Ryan blurted out.

Surprised both Dallon and you looked at him.

“I mean, we could do one, right?” Judging by Ryan’s reaction he seemed not to have planned to say his idea out loud.

“Yeah, that’s a great idea,” Dallon immediately agreed, “are you gonna write it?”

Ryan nodded quietly, his gaze again flickering over to you, but you did not notice. Too occupied was your mind wondering about who Ryan wanted to write a love song for.

“So (y/n), hey (y/n),” Dallon tried to get your attention, “Do you want to help writing?”

“Oh, yes, definitely,” you quickly agreed. You loved writing poems that you knew would later be turned into music.

“Got an idea already or do you want any of these,” he waved around the page you had handed him earlier.

“I think I’m gonna take this diner-idea of yours,” you told him, referring to one of the lines he had scribbled down on the paper. It said ‘late night diner atmosphere’.

“Okay,” Dallon took a pen and scribbled your name next to the line. “I suggest we continue on Wednesday, it’s late and I wanna get home before the kids are off to bed.”

Ryan and you agreed, both being tired and hungry. Together you packed your things and cleared the floor of the sheets that had been lying around everywhere. Peacefully chattering you left the building and entered the cool night outside. It was dark already, the narrow sidewalk only lit up by a few street lanterns. Dallon waved good bye to Ryan and hugged you quickly before he skipped to his car that was parked a few meters away. You smiled at his behavior; you could always tell how much he looked forward to seeing his kids at home.

“And what are we two gonna do,” Ryan inquired.

Surprised you turned around to him. You had expected him to say good bye as well, leaving you alone to do whatever you wanted, in this case go to the diner a few streets down to get some inspiration for the text you wanted to write.

“Ahm,” you hesitated, not sure what he wanted you to say. “I was thinking about going to this diner, down the street, if this is okay with you?”

Ryan nodded, one of his blue strands falling into his eyes. “That’s a great idea, I’m starving.”

Side by side you walked down the empty streets. It was only half past eight, but this part of the town always seemed deserted, even though there were people inside the shops and restaurants. You sometimes wondered if they just beamed in there and out again since you never saw anyone on the street. Silence hovered over the two of you. You seemed to have run out of things to talk about and you could not decide if the silence was comfortable or awkward. You were just turning around the last corner when something warm stroked the back of your hand. You flinched and looked down to see what it had been, realizing that it must have been Ryan’s hand since it was not even an inch away from yours. You looked up at him, but he did not seem to have noticed anything since his eyes were fixed on the ground. For a moment you let your imagination run wild, thinking that he might have tried to take hold of your hand, but you quickly abandoned that thought. It had been an accident, nothing more, he was not interested in you in that way.

You reached the diner without any further incidents. He held the door open for you and you entered, immediately concentrating on the different sensations you noticed. You wanted to write a song about it after all. You noticed the red and white furniture and the big American flag on the short site of the room. The air smelled of bacon and coffee and quiet rock music was blaring through the speaker.

You walked over to one of the tables next to the window, sliding into the booth. The red leather that the chairs were made out of was a bit flaky and stiff but mostly still smooth. Your fingers wandered over the green table, taking in the coolness of the surface and the tiny differently colored patches of plastic that were worked into the tabletop. Ryan had slipped into the seat opposite you and suddenly you grew very aware of how he was watching you. Realizing that you had completely ignored him for a moment, you quickly looked up with an apologetic smile. He seemed not really to notice; his eyes were glassy and still fixed on your fingers that were resting on the table. You took a deep breath and pulled your hand off the table. Ryan kept staring at the spot for a moment before he looked up at you. Was he blushing?

The waitress came and both of you ordered a vegi burger with fries and some milkshake. While you were waiting for your food, you noticed Ryan shoot you a glance every other minute.

“Hey, do you mind if I start writing,” you wondered, finally not being able to take the silence anymore.

“Oh no, sure, I think I might start too,” he told you and both of you pulled out notebooks and pens.

You started with a little bit of brain storming, noting down all the impressions you had had when entering the place. Then you let your eyes glide over the people in the room. The waitress was a young woman, mid-twenties, with dirty blonde hair and too much make up. In the corner of the diner sat an old man behind his newspaper, a cup of coffee in front of him. The booth next to the door was occupied by some teenagers and at the bar sat a young couple. You wrote everything down and tried to avoid looking at Ryan. He had his feet pulled up on the seat and rested his notebook against his legs, focused on writing something down, but you could not see it. You concentrated back on your own work, reading over the things you had noted down, puzzling them into a story, the story that would later turn into the song. You had already written a few lines with which you were really happy, when the food arrived. The waitress threw a disapproving glance at Ryan’s hair that he either ignored or did not notice.

Over dinner you started talking again, this time about how Ryan was considering going to a concert of Paul McCartney one day. You laughed a lot at the stupid jokes he was making and he laughed as well, making you feel warm and safe. You wanted things to stay that way, the way they were right now. You together with Ryan, eating in a cheap diner while writing music and laughing your asses off because of some ridiculous pun.

“Do you already have something,” Ryan wondered when you were finished with eating and only had you milkshakes left and a few fries left. He reached over the table and stole one off your plate. You swatted his hand away playfully, only making him reach across the table again to steal a few more.

“I got a few lines, nothing proper yet, but I think it’ll turn into something,” you told him, glancing at the open notebook next to you. “Do you have anything?”

“Not really,” Ryan answered, grabbing another one of your fries. He had his notebook turned face down, so you could not see what he had written. “Can I see?”

Without waiting for your answer he picked your note book up. You wanted to protest, but decided to steal his notebook instead. When you turned it around, you were surprised that he had not written down one single word, instead the page was filled with fine lines that came together as a small portrait.

“Don’t-“ Ryan wanted to take the notebook from your hands but you turned away instinctively, studying the picture he had drawn.

It showed a person sitting in a booth next to a window, head lowered over a book that they were writing into. It took a moment to realize that the person he had been drawing was you. But it was you unmistakably. The way the person’s hair fell into their face was just like yours, the way they sat and dressed…

The notebook was torn out of your hand just when you had noticed the many tiny hearts that had been doodled around the edges. You looked up a Ryan, who clutched his notes to his chest, his face burning up with a blush, a blush you could feel rise into your cheeks as well.

He opened his mouth to say something but no sound escaped him, so he just stared at you with wide, brown eyes.

“Is that why you wanted to write a love song,” you asked, sounding a lot calmer than you actually were. You heart was beating in your throat and your cheeks burning from the blood that had rushed into them.

“I… I didn’t… you weren’t supposed to…” he stammered and closed his eyes. He was shaking as if he resisted the urge to run away and when he looked up at you, his expression had changed. Now it was full of determination. “You weren’t supposed to find out, but since it’s too late… I like you. Okay? I have for a while now, and… I just don’t want anything to change between us, if that’s okay with you.” You could tell how he pretended to be confident, but his eyes were betraying him.

“Not really,” you answered, watching as his pretend-confidence crumbled, not knowing what you were up to. Following an instinct you stood up and leant over the table. You placed your hand at the side of his face and pulled him close until your lips met. You could tell how astounded he was, but he kissed back quickly before you pulled away. When you opened your eyes, you he was smiling at you, still blushing terribly.

“Well, in that case…” he grinned. Without warning he cupped your face in his hands and pulled you in for another kiss.

This one was lasting longer and you relished the tickling of his hands against your skin. His lips were soft, slightly chapped, but still so soft, and smooth. He tasted of the strawberry milkshake he had had and a bit like fries. His kisses were gentle, yet demanding and you could feel your head get dizzy over the amazing feeling of him so close to you. When you both pulled away for breath, you were smiling brightly.

Amused you watched the crinkles at the corner of his eyes form, how his deep brown orbs scanned your face and his beautiful lips curled into a smile.

“Now that’s a plot twist, “ he giggled.

You nodded and sat back down. He did the same and you could feel him tangle his legs with yours under the table.

“Maybe we should combine our songs,” you suggested, smiling.

“A diner love song?” Ryan giggled again. “Sounds perfect.”

#fanfiction #fanfic #i don't know how but they found me #idkhbtfm #fluff #dallon weekes #ryan seaman #ryan seaman x reader #ryan seaman fluff

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vietnambeauty-blog1 · 5 years

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Top 5 best restaurant pho Dalat Vietnam

You are traveling to Dalat and feel hungry, let’s go find the 5 best restaurants Pho Dalat here.

Pho is a familiar dish of Vietnamese people throughout the three regions, Pho can be eaten for breakfast, lunch, dinner and even late for dinner. “Where to eat the most delicious Pho Dalat ?” Is probably the question of many tourists coming to this city.

And answering this question is not easy as each restaurant has its own recipe and secret to attract customers. Here are some of the famous and popular Dalat noodle restaurants and addresses that I has gathered for you to refer and choose.

Top 5 best restaurants Pho Dalat

Pho gia truyen 3

Address: 402 Hai Ba Trung, ward 6, Dalas city, Lam Dong province Opening hours: 06:00 – 11:00 Am

If you are looking for a standard noodle shop, this is not a bad choice.

Pho Gia Truyen 3 is the place to retain the most delicate of Pho Hanoi.

Located in a quite nice location right in the city center, it is not difficult for visitors to come here. The open kitchen space will help visitors freely choose topping for themselves. This is also a big plus because you can enjoy how your pho is made, avoiding the unsanitary food situation that causes bewilderment for many people when eating the restaurant. Pho Gia Truyen 3 concentrates all the essence of North pho. Bone soup 14 hours natural juicy, faint cinnamon and anise. In addition, there are many types of pho for you to choose.

If you are tired of the usual beef noodle soup, chicken noodle soup, then you can change the wind by the types such as beef tail noodle, beef noodle soup, chicken noodle soup … suitable for all ages to enjoy.

Pho Thung

Address: Position 1: 02 Nguyen Van Cu, Ward 1, Da Lat City, Lam Dong Province Position 2: 11/1 La Son Phu Tu, Ward 6, Da Lat City, Lam Dong Province

Opening hours: 08:00 – 22:00

Pho Thung Da Lat is located right in the center of the city, the shop is small but crowded in and out. The shop has 3 kinds of pho. Easy for you to choose. Pho here is quite big, delicious Pho bar, not sweet sugar or mono sodium glutamate, clear noodle soup does not smell too much beef, or the smell of star anise is also less. Delicious tender beef eat well.

Pho is served with Caron, Chinese smell, basil leaves, cinnamon leaves … And especially on each table there is a very large bowl of onions, you can meet or eat in a bowl of pho. In addition, the restaurant also sells more twigs for you to eat, cup of pale eggs.

The shop is always crowded but the service is quite fast and thoughtful. Currently there are 2 establishments, easy for you to move to the shop. Pho price is quite cheap here, baby bowl VND 18,000, small bowl VND 30,000, large bowl VND 35,000, special bowl VND 45,000.

Pho Hieu

Address: 23 Tang Bat Ho, DaLas City, Lam Dong Province Opening hours: 07:00 – 22:00

A delicious noodle shop in Dalat, which is sold from morning to night, located right in the center of Hoa Binh area. One day Dalat was cool and enjoyed a delicious bowl of hot pho, there was nothing left. Pho Dalat restaurant has many types of pho for you to choose, rare, beef, dandruff, dandruff, tendon or whole mix are delicious, the broth is quite clear, good in mouth and not very fat.

Pho here you can eat with quay cake, strange but attractive. Small bowl 32,000 VND, big bowl 35,000 VND, special bowl 45,000 VND. The restaurant is quite crowded, located right next to the famous milk shop in Da Lat. The space is comfortable, clean, staff fast and enthusiastic.

Pho dalat – Pho no.1 Hanoi

Address: 71B, Bui Thi Xuan, pho Dalas city, Lam Dong province Opening hours: 06:00 – 22:30

Pho No. 1 Hanoi retains the typical flavor of ancient pho. Pho is soft but not crushed, sweet broth is not mixed with main wheat impurities, soft beef, crispy beef bucket, full spice standard heirloom recipe.

Early in the morning, breathing in the fresh and cool atmosphere of Da Lat, enjoying a hot poetic pho, with nothing but sweet broth from bone. Pho is served with fresh green vegetables.

In addition, the restaurant also sells fried beef and sour cabbage. Service staff are young people so agile.

Pho Bang

Address: 18, Nguyen Van Troi, Dalas city, Lam Dong province Opening hours: 07:00 – 21:00

Pho Bang Da Lat is a famous restaurant shop that locals come to enjoy. Pho is very delicious, but the water is still clear, but still strong, the beef is thinly sliced, soft, adding more onions to make the noodle bowl more attractive. The space is wide, airy and clean, the shop opens at 7:00 am and closes at 21:00 pm. Enjoying a hot bowl of pho, served with a plate of veggies is mesmerizing because it is fresh, green and more, it is true that Dalas.

The shop is located on Nguyen Van Troi Street, a one-way street in Da Lat, so if you are a tourist looking for a noodle shop, you should pay attention, avoid going too far and then have to go around again.

Travel to Dalat – city in the mist

Ho Chi Minh to Dalat how far by car ?

The post Top 5 best restaurant pho Dalat Vietnam appeared first on Viet Nam Beauty.

source https://vietnambeauty.net/top-5-best-restaurant-pho-dalat-vietnam/

#Vietnambeauty

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pravasiga · 7 years

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June 25, 2017 - Merak: Joy to the World

Merak: (n.) a Serbian word that "refers to a feeling of bliss, and sense of oneness with the universe that comes from the simplest of pleasures. It is the pursuit of small, daily pleasures that all add up to a great sense of happiness and fulfillment."

Life at VMH-Kenchanahalli is quiet. It's quiet enough to hear yourself think all day and be comfortable with this small parcel of land where so much goes on. A lot of my updates so far have been about larger experiences and big moments that have given me enough material to write literal essays on. But most of the best things here have been the small, the simple, and the quiet.

These are the moments that have made up the majority of my last three weeks in India and I cherish them just as much as all of the other larger, more spectacular memories. So many of these moments are fleeting, devoid of a moral or a punchline or a story, but they weave together the fabric of warm community and bonding that I've been lucky to be apart of while I'm here. In a collection of same little drabbles that have given me the feeling of merak, as a reminder of all the great and good things that come in little packages.

********************************************************************************** On our very first day at the SVYM VIIS campus, we were greeted by several staff with baskets of jasmine flower garlands and little bowls of red powder that they dotted on our foreheads to welcome us to India. I spent almost the entirety of the first day trying (and failing) to not accidentally sweat or wipe off the tilaka on my forehead. I spent the entire day with my garland on, just to envelope myself in the sweet scent for as long as I could.

I adore the smell of jasmine flowers. The clear, sweet aroma hangs heavy in the air, and remains crisp all day. Vendors - young, old, women, and children - sell garlands on garlands of flowers in a rainbow of colors: ivory white, sunburst orange, bright yellow, vibrant red, and pristine pink. Everywhere I go here, I see women and girls with flowers in their hair, pinned behind the ear or with garlands curled around thick, elegant braids. Every morning, staff at VMH-Kenchanahalli pick fresh wildflowers to place around the statue bust of Swami Viviekananda. I have stood under trees with a dazzling display of paper-thin magenta-purple cocoons around tiny white flowers.

Here, in India, everything is in bloom, from bushes of hibiscus flowers, with their trumpeting petals and rich colors, to frangipani flowers that have swirls of buttercup yellow and white petals. Here in the countryside, everything is green and lush and I can only imagine what this vast and beautiful looked like centuries ago before civilization. When we drive home in the evening, the dipping sun throws a sheen of gold all across the land and I see a glimpse of what heaven must look like.

* If there was one place that could convince me to never jay-walk again, it would be a busy street in India and I've been told that Mysore is not nearly as bad as other major Indian cities. Try dodging rickshaws, tour-buses, cars, motorcycles, AND goats. And all of them are moving at their own pace and pattern, forming a dynamic Gordian Knot of human (and goat) activity.

* I wish there were words to describe how happy I get when I see them serving puris for a meal. Burning hot from the stove, these delicious pockets of deep-fried dough have become a favorite. I can smell the heavenly sent of ghee (clarified butter) and flour and hearing the soft hiss as it deflates on the plate in front of me. I burn my fingers every single time when I get too impatient to wait for it to cool down but it's worth it.

Also noteworthy: the parathas here, which are even better than the frozen scallion ones that I used to rejoice about when my dad made them for breakfast.

* My phone alarm went off once at 3:40AM and once again at 3:45AM on June 21, telling me that it was time to get out of bed in preparation for our International Yoga Day World Record Attempt in Mysore. An enormous bus, already packed with students from the Hosahalli Vivekanand Tribal Center of Learning, about 40 minutes down the road, hurtled down the rural road, its headlights piercing the darkness of the early morning. I fell asleep as soon as I got onto the bus, waking only to catch glimpses of the landscape as we chased the sunrise on the horizon.

It was a massive effort and the entire Mysore Race Track was swarming with color coordinated groups of uniformed school children including a particularly sharply dressed class in maroon and gold. The Hosahalli girls held hands in groups of three, running barefoot along the side of the street, a skill which I still haven't learned to master because I'm still too afraid of tripping over rocks or stepping on animal feces.

The entire center of the Race Track had been partitioned into more than forty sections, each consisting of over one thousand people. In the distance as far as I could see, rows upon rows of yoga mats were being laid out by participants. All of us had been instructed to wear light colored clothing so that we would contrast against our yoga mats in the aerial photo that Guinness World Records would be taking and using as their official counting metric.

Halfway through our yoga practice, official passed out official Guinness World Record ATTEMPT certificates which now just reminds me of what could have been because while Mysore clocked in at a whopping 54,101 people, we later found out that we had been beaten for the world record by a city in Gujarat by what was first reported as 300,000 people but later recorded as about 54,500 people which makes me even sadder because WE WERE SHORT ABOUT 400 PEOPLE.

Will be rooting for Mysore next year to beat Ahmedabad. Viva Mysore, Yoga Capital of the World.

I fed a happy cow who then slobbered all over my friend's hand. We kept feeding it anyways.

One late night, I asked Raju, our main point of contact for rickshaw drivers, where his favorite place in Mysore was. He turned around (while speeding through traffic, mind you) and said, "Everywhere."

I have also asked Raju what his responsibility would be if he accidentally hit a cow with his rickshaw and I don't remember the entire process but it seems pretty serious. Pro tip: don't hit the cows here.

* The same Raju also took a selfie with us from behind the wheel, while weaving through traffic. I need his driving skills.

There are several young children who live at VMH-Kenchanahalli campus because their parents work here. Anu is the world's cutest three year old and she's already running around with seven-year old Yogesh. They have always been peeking in through our office door and squealing "Hi!!" at us before running away, but yesterday, we went outside to play with the kids. This eventually devolved into a game of "Illa! Howdu!" (literally, no! yes!) which had no real rules but I snapped a quick picture of it. It was a convoluted version of slapping hands and it eventually turned into us doing the wave in a circle around them. We sat on the stone floor, grabbing at each others hands while Anu laughed with delight. Quite honestly the cutest child I've ever met and when she giggles, she rolls the sound in the back of her throat. And it sounds like pure joy and sunshine.

* At a women's empowerment organization that served as a sheltered for survivors of domestic abuse, assault, or disputes, we met with a dozen of the residents and dozens upon dozens of the children. Many women are pressured into marriage here and unfortunately, many face abuse and violence at the hands of their husbands and silence from their families. With one of the organizations serving as translator, we slowly communicated about women's issues in India and the US. Through difficult stories and rough memories, we were able to spark the tiniest of connections. When someone asked the women what they wanted to see next in the future, one of the women, cradling her sleeping daughter in her arms, asserted that she will never allow her daughter to face the same fate that she had.

The children at the women's empowerment organization had prepared us a song. Then they asked us to sing an English one. We chose 'Twinkle Twinkle Little Star' and started as twenty voices. Over 60 other little voices soon joined us in a deafening roar.

The stars in the night sky above VMH-Kenchanahalli are so clear, I can see them twinkling here too.

And one of my favorites -

At VMH-Saragur, while waiting for the bathroom, I met Pooja, one of the academic coordinators who was helping to supervise all of the visiting international students' projects. I told her that I had friends back in the US named Pooja too. She took my hand, smiled at me, and said, "Well, my name is Pooja, and now I'm your friend too."

Matte Siguva (See you soon), Winnie

PS: I'm definitely forgetting some cute moments but just assume that I'll work them in some sappy way in another post in the future.

PPS: I am currently binge-watching Gravity Falls and Brooklyn 99 and impatiently waiting for Season Three of Rick and Morty to PLEASE come out.

PPPS: The food at Kenchanahalli is bomb af and my stomach is a happy lil thing. So happy. We get fresh mangos and bananas here!

PPPPS: Have a wonderful day!

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awolfroams · 7 years

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April Break 2017 - Belgium and the Netherlands, Part 2: Amsterdam

Thursday, April 13, 2017, 1:30pm The Lebanese Sajeria, Amsterdam

Anise reminds me of my grandmother. We arrived at 11, walked along beautiful, sunny canals to our hostel to check in, and stopped here for lunch. I got a beef and labneh with creamy coconut lentil soup and yensoun - anise tea. Some people can’t stand the taste of anise and it breaks my heart because I can’t get enough of it. It tastes like Christmas at home.

7pm City Hall “Coffee Shop”

We took a Sandemans tour of Amsterdam. I really love Sandemans. They always give great tours. The guide, Kor, was passionate about everything from his hometown of Amsterdam to his hatred for Trump and a decent chunk of American culture, to the importance of accepting refugees. Thanks to him, we realized the value of booking online tickets to the Anne Frank House - we literally got the last two between now and us leaving, for Saturday at 8:30am - and I secured a ticket for the Van Gogh museum on Saturday at 3. We also booked tickets for Keukenhof tomorrow. Apparently, this is the busiest weekend of the year for Amsterdam, because naturally. After the tour, and profusely thanking and tipping our guide, we wandered back to Dam Platz to buy “Amsterdam” fries - covered with sweet spicy sauce, cheese, and fried onion bits - and stroopwaffel half-dipped in Nutella at the carnival. From there we came to this Coffee Shop, City Hall, recommended by Kor. It is a mellow place sunk into the side of an old building. Reminds me a bit of Christopher Street in the Village. The weed here is very high-quality, and very strong, for very cheap (7 euros a joint).

Friday, April 14, 2017, 1:30pm On the bus to Keukenhof!

After the coffee shop, we walked to Leidseplein, as I had read reviews online to check it out, but we found it underwhelming, so we went back to the hostel to shower and relax for a bit. At 9, we headed to the Red Light District, which was PACKED. I can’t decide how to feel about the “book readers,” as Kor coyly referred to them. Part of my reaction is holy-hell-you-are-gorgeous. On the tour yesterday, Kor took us to a section of the Red Light District where there was a Church, and explained how that Church kept great business because of the book readers back in the days when Amsterdam was a fishermen’s city, as sailors, having visited a “book reader” before braving months back at life-threatening sea, and unable to go to Church the next morning to confess, would pay the priests to “pre-confess” beforehand and be absolved in advance. Yo ho.

Another gut reaction I have to the book readers is to feel self-conscious and wanting to go ask them if they’re getting on alright, even though I’m sure if I actually did they would tell me off and shoo me along so I wasn’t getting in the way of business. I guess there was a big soccer game in town last night, so there were a TON of “polite, family-friendly young men out for a sporting event” (very funny, Kor) wandering half-drunk through the Red Light District, and half the things I overheard Brits saying to and about the women made me truly want to knock their teeth out.

Kor explained the rationality of Dutch tolerance for prostitution, weed, gay marriage, and Catholicism, back in the day, thus: “It must follow the cardinal rules of Amsterdam. Number one, it must be good for business. Number two, it shouldn’t hurt anyone. And number three, it must be discreet.” (Hence, “coffee shops” that don’t sell coffee, and “book readers” who don’t read books; at least, probably not on the job.)

In the middle of our wandering we visited the Erotic Museum, which had a floor of porn from around the world, from at least the 15th century to the present, on everything from Japanese ceramic tiles to Grecian mosaics to British and Dutch watercolors. There were autographed photographs from celebrity icons like Madonna and Bette Davis, and confiscated “lewd” drawings by John Lennon of Yoko Ono in various stages of lovemaking. There was a room screening fairy tail and cartoon porn, and an entire floor of BDSM videos and toys.

After the museum and walking around a bit more through the Red Light District, we went to a Surinamese Restaurant for some we-are-closing-at-midnight-so-you-have-fifteen-minutes-to-eat, tasty food.

This morning, we slept in a bit, then had a late breakfast at Broodje Bert, a Bert-and-Ernie-themed cafe overlooking one of the canals. I ate eggs, homemade bread with Dutch cheese, and fresh, seasoned salad with awoooooogala. I drank Earl Grey with a complimentary biscuit while we people-watched for a bit before walking to Centraal Station where we caught the ferry across the Canal to Overhoeksplein, from where we are riding to Keukenhof in style on a Mercedez..bus.

Easter Sunday April 16, 2017, 12:30pm Gare du Nord, Brussels, waiting for the train to Bruges

Keukenhof was beautiful. Everywhere smelled of flowers. I counted at least thirty different types of tulips, as well as hyacinths, and many more other varieties than I could name or count. As we walked the grounds, we at homemade ice cream in a cone for 2,50 euro. It tasted like frozen fresh-whipped cream. Not as sweet as the ice cream back home, but very light and creamy. We saw Mondrian’s Composition II made out of tulips, visited baby goats and pigs at the petting zoo, and climbed the giant windmill made in the 1800s. Inside the windmill, if you looked up, you could see the aged gears turning in their sockets. On the bus ride out, you could see fields of bright stripes of tulips in every color of the rainbow. I’ll have to write to Sharon to let her know I finally went.

Back in Amsterdam, we took a canal tour of the city with Lover’s for 16 euro. They gave us headphones so we could listen to the history of the city and keep an eye out for key points of interest, such as the Rembradnt House, Flower Market, and the point on the canal where you can see a gapped tunnel of sorts forming from seven perfectly-aligned canal bridges. I tried to take a photograph, but the boat was too crowded.

After the tour, we walked to Sonneveld, a restaurant on a quiet canal recommended by Kor for traditional Dutch food. Brittany had Stamppart - mashed potatoes with vegetables topped with a giant meatball covered in gravy - chased with a Heineken, of which I stole another sip. I had fresh cod with greens, fries, and Dutch mayo, which is more like butter with herbs mixed in. For dessert, I finished off the last of the Tony’s salted caramel chocolate bar I had bought at the Keukhenhof gift shop. Dutch chocolate is much richer than our chocolate. Less sweet, and more complex.

It had started to rain, which we couldn’t really complain about, as we’d had two days of sun after a forecast promising showers every day, so we pulled up the hoods on our raincoats and, after a couple of unsuccessful attempts to find a souvenir shop, headed back to the hostel for the night. The girl from Brooklyn who’d quit her job and rented a car to drive to breweries across the countryside here was still below my bunk, but the two girls from Croatia had been replaced by a woman from Vietnam and another from Ethiopia who were living in Budapest and working for Unicef. Oh, to work for the UN...

6pm Sitting below the Simon Steven monument across from The Chocolate Line

We woke up very early on our final day in Amsterdam so we could make our 8:30am time slot to the Anne Frank House. As expected, the visit was rough. We walked through too choked up to speak, listening to our audio guides read excerpts from Anne’s diary, while we stared at the pencil marks showing Anne and Margot’s growth on the walls and the dozens of pictures, comic strips, and other book clippings Anne had pasted onto her walls. The Nazis had raided the attic of all furniture and major belongings, and Otto had wanted it kept that way, but photographs showed recreations of what the annex had looked like when people were living there. Perhaps the hardest thing to hear was the accounts of Otto and others who had known Anne and experienced losing her. Afterwords, I bought a copy of her diary, as I haven’t heard it since middle school, and a book exclusive to the museum about her life and history as a gift for my mom.

After the museum, to change up the pace a bit, we went for breakfast at The Happy Pig Pancake Shop, where I had a chocolate-hazelnut covered waffle with banana and a yerba mate, and Brittany had a delicious apple-caramel-nut pancake that she kindly offered me a bite of. The owner of the shop was an adorable, friendly British woman, who aside from oinking along with her poor bemused chef when we tipped, kept checking in to make sure the food was good, remembering us by name - NOT EUROPEAN AT ALL. When we mentioned we were looking for tulip bulbs and other souvenirs, she helpfully suggested we visit the Albert Cuypmarkt. On the way, we stopped into Mail and Female after seeing their bright pink sign out front proclaiming “Eat Pussy: It’s Organic!” At the Market, I bought fresh stroopwaffel made in front of me for a euro fifty, and a few bags to take home to my students [Future Note: They liked it so much, one of them ordered more on Amazon.], and we did most of our souvenir shopping. We couldn’t find any US-certified tulip bulbs, so we went back to the Bloemenmarkt to buy some for our moms. [Future Note: My mom’s have already come up, or at least, the leaves have. Hoping they bloom next year.]

Finally, we found the I AMsterdam sign to take some photographs (it was PACKED with people), and then split up for a bit so that I could go to perhaps my favorite stop on our tour of Amsterdam, the Van Gogh Museum.

8:45pm On the train back to Brussels

Wandering through the Van Gogh Museum by myself, at my own pace, was just what I needed on this trip. I take a long time in museums. I’m the type of person who wants to read all of the plaques and stare at the art from at least four different angles, if you give me the time. What can I say about Vincent Van Gogh that hasn’t been said already? Probably nothing. That won’t stop me from trying, though, or loving his work. His yellows and purples and deep blues. His thick, tactile paint strokes urgently sprawling, writhing across the canvases, or Japanese box lids, or tablecloths. Sometimes the art just couldn’t wait for the perfect material. Getting to view his seascape pieces under a microscope and see the bits of sand and sea washed into the paint. The sense of desperation, of needing to leave behind a legacy, of running out of time. What is a legacy? Seventy paintings in seventy-five days. Why did he paint like he was running out of time? Did he, too, imagine death so much it felt more like a memory? He too, chose when it would get him. And what if it hadn’t? And what if he’d lived with the monsters in the window? What if he’d actually seen Amy and Eleven’s gift? Would it have felt like a gift, or an unattainable, suffocating challenge?

After the museum, I met Brittany back at the hostel where we charged our phones for a few minutes and I accidentally got to witness for the first time a man in a Zelda shirt snort a coke line off his hand in the smoke room across the window from us. Ah, Amsterdam. You popped so many cherries for me.

We met Kris, the same BlaBlaCar driver, who picked us up along with a quiet girl from somewhere in Southeast Asia and two Armenian girls whose driver had cancelled on them, so Kris had offered to take them along if one rode in the trunk. At least it was a minivan.

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