The Even Greater Tokyo Region

Tales From A Holiday Not My Own.

So, I had three friends visiting at the end of the summer holidays, and I had to do my best impression of a local guide. Basically, I don't really know much of Holland to show around, but I wanted them to have a very Dutch experience. From this time, I got to see the country from a very different perspective: that of an American tourist. Despite this, it was a fun time and there are some stories I otherwise wouldn't have experience. For example, waking up at 5AM in Eindhoven. Well, they weren't all fun times. I don't like to narrate, but I love telling anecdotes.
Just be warned: I don't do transitional material... anyway...

"Hey, did you hear the one about the Cube Houses?"

My friends were staying at the famous cube houses for a few nights. Yes, right above the very location, the sacred ground where Jackie Chan once fought. This also earned him a square on Rotterdam's Walk of Fame. Yes, we have a walk of fame. Deal with it.

It turns out there is a very reasonably priced hostel in one of the cube houses. The only other way to take a look inside would be to break into someone who lives there, or go to the "cube hostel lookhouse". But for the price of looking thrice, you may as well stay a night (with breakfast). Because my friends had booked together, they had a 4-bed room to themselves. Not bad for some prime real estate, especially for the price they were paying.

However on the 2nd night, we came back late after some doners, walked in the room. There was a guy. An Icelandic guy.
"Hi!" He said.

Luckily he wasn't too weird. He was very enthusiastic about showing some of his culture to us. He opens a tiny bottle of Icelandic vodka, volcanic rock purified. It was very nice. Then he shows us a tin.

"It's tobacco", he says. "...for your nose."
We looked at him funny. "You mean, it's chewing tobacco."
"No, it's nose tobacco."
We looked at each other funny.
"Do you want to try?" He asked. "No? Okay, I'll show you."

As he was putting a small row on the back of his hand he tells us that he doesn't use it himself. We reassured him that he didn't have to show us. I mean, I wouldn't ask a Cuban man to smoke a cigar. But he wasn't listening, or wasn't understanding us, and he snorted two nostril-fuls of tobacco.

He starts coughing.
"I hate it." He says.
"It is burning me behind my eyes!"


Soon he was coughing and sneezing in the bathroom and blowing his nose directly into the toilet. Isn't cultural exchange fun?

I wasn't sure if I should feel bad or if I should laugh. So, I did both. The point is, going on holiday should be about meeting other people, wherever they may be from, and making fun of them.


"So, are any of you guys from Vondelpark?"

Vondelpark is the big park in Amsterdam, which I possibly falsely tell everyone that is the park in Amsterdam where nudity is allowed. I am too lazy to check if this is factually true, and besides, I like not knowing. Ig'nince is fun!

Anyway, although the weather wasn't perfect, we had a bit of a picnic, and there were some other groups of people there too. At one point, one of us says: "Those two girls behind you are making out." Indeed they were. Wow, open holland. They weren't nude, but maybe my "fact" could actually be quite close to the truth. After a while of "canoodling", two more girls joined them. And I mean, they weren't just all sitting together, they were all canoodling together. And only 1 1/2 of them weren't at least reasonably good-looking. I was impressed at myself for showing my friends the true Holland.

As an appendage to this anecdote (and to be fair, this anecdote does desperately need an appendage), here is a photo I found of Vondelpark on the 2nd page of Google Image search. Apparently this wasn't an isolated incident.

"Don't you hate it when strangers ask you to touch their snake? What's the deal with that?"So, we were walking past the Homo Monument in Amsterdam. I mean, not on purpose. I mean, not that there's anything wrong with that. It just happened to be on our way to where-ever we were going next. In all fairness, it is also very near the Anne Frank house. Besides, do you know how hard it would be to avoid the gays in Amsterdam?

Anyway. There was a guy stopped on a bicycle on the side of the road. It was a mountain bike and he had a backpack on. He calls out to me in a very trashy English accent:
"Could y' pick up the snayke on mi bag?"
I thought this was a reasonable request. I mean, I thought it was a Camel Pack. You know, a backback with a bladder of water in it that pretend sporty yuppie douche-bags like to use when they bike to work. By the look of it, these Camel Packs could be quite annoying when on a bike, so I went to hand him the nozzle.

Just as I was about to pick it up, this is what I saw:

"Oh shit, it's a real snake!", I might have accidentally said aloud. To me it was like when some wizard turns Harry Potter's wand into a snake. (Not that I have seen more than this happen in the one Harry Potter movie I was forced to watch, but I can confidently say that this has happened at least once.)

Anyway, I was stunned at a real live snake, and jumped back. The English guy says Englishly:
"It's only a yellow python, it doesn't bite. It doesn't have teef." (mind you, neither did the English guy himself. Don't you love a fulfilled stereotype?). My friend ended up helping the guy by carefully taking the bag off of his back. By this time, I was standing far away. But in my defence, I am a giant wuss.

As we walked away, my friend proudly stated that in Amsterdam, a guy asked us to touch his snake, near the Homo Monument. And you can't get a more Dutch experience than that.

"Anyway, you guys have been a great crowd."