I'm cleaning out my Mac to find untold stories in the form of raw camera images.
Travel nostalgia often leaves my mind lost. It's probably the most bitter-sweet feeling in my existence. I feel directionless, yet content with such an ambiguous longing. The paradox of 'I wouldn't trade this experience for the world.' and 'I gravely wish I could be there right now.' is often overwhelming.
Amsterdam is on the brain today. I miss the friends I bonded with in a matter of a couple of short days. Most are still there, and I must visit again soon if at all possible. I found a few photos that brought a reminder of a story I hadn't told anyone, which I would have forgotten, if it weren't for the pictures.
To set the stage, I hadn't slept much the night before I flew out of Fargo at 5am. I was the last coach seat on the 3:00pm AMS flight out of MSP. I couldn't sleep much on the flight, and arrived in at 5am AMS time. I couldn't check in to my hostel until 1:30pm, so I was forced to stay up for quite a long time. I was half-asleep wandering through a gloomy alley on the way to the hostel, when I met a man standing outside his door. Severely lacking sleep meant severely lacking judgment, and I accepted his invite inside for breakfast and coffee. He was a kind soul and served me the best sugar coated bread I've ever had, as well as some top notch coffee. I chatted with a few travelers who stopped by, as well, but understanding their English was difficult. I sat there intrigued, while listening to the dutch language - trying to comprehend any possible word I could. I ended up falling asleep sitting upright in the chair and woke up in time to check into my hostel. Waking up was embarrassing, as they looked at me as if I was a cute puppy who cocked his head to the side. I thanked them for the food and conversation, and I was on my way - this time even more disoriented than an hour prior. I'm not sure how I made it to the hostel, because I don't really remember the walk, but a few hours later I woke up in my bunk to 6 german guys laughing loudly from their respective bunks. I'm assuming they weren't laughing at me.
The old man on the street brought light to a rather gloomy morning in Amsterdam and I'm thankful for them. I can still taste coffee and bread in my mind. I don't remember where their place was, but when I go back, I will find them again to say hello. I have this photograph of the street.
Such independence cannot be found in Fargo like it can in another foreign place. I'm so fortunate to have experienced this story, but I miss it all the same. I'm itching to travel again, and I'm hoping next weekend will bring me somewhere new, or even somewhere old to curb the nostalgia for a little while longer.