Greetings from Amsterdam! I'm telling you, Sunny, this is our kind of city. It's almost as good as Cali. I've already met some totally rad people. The Dutch are so tuned into animal rights, environmental causes, and all my other passions. If only you could be here! It'd totally take your mind off your mom's cancer.
Love and Sunshine,
Dawn
I knew Sunny would appreciate hearing from me. My best California friend, Sunny Winslow, has never been to Amsterdam, but her parents have. Over the years, they've told me plenty of stories (and left plenty others out. Not "age appropriate" they claim). According to the Winslows, Amsterdam was hippie haven back in the 60's. Apparently, the city never recovered. It's known for being tolerant - racially, religiously, sexually, everything.
That's why Amsterdam is the perfect place for me. I'm a very tolerant person. I'm also an independent thinker. I believe in doing my own thing instead of following the crowd. I don't let anyone tell me what to think, feel, or do. Plus, I speak out whenever I see an injustice and encourage others to do the same. I consider myself a champion of people, animals, and the environment.
It's too bad more people aren't like me. I hope that the tolerance and goodwill of Amsterdam will rub off on my friends. They could benefit from some enlightenment. Especially Greer. I've not known her long, but already her ignorance and intolerance is obvious. Maybe she'll learn some tolerance in Amsterdam, but I doubt it.
On Sunday, our first real day in Amsterdam, I awoke around eight. I felt a little jet lagged, but I'm used to it since I fly so often. Sometimes I resent having to fly cross country all the time. My life is really complicated. Most people couldn't handle it as well as I do.
Claudia and Kristy were still asleep. Claudia was snoring and snorting like a pig. She should be more courteous to others. No one wants to hear that.
I dressed quickly in a pair of tan shorts and a sky blue t-shirt with California written in white letters. I wanted to advertise my home state. I ran a brush through my long pale, pale hair and put on some earrings. In the first holes, I wore dangling palm trees. In the second holes, I wore hot pink sunglasses. Definitely California Casual.
In the kitchen, I found Mrs. Kilbourne, Stacey, Shannon, and Abby eating breakfast. Mrs. Kilbourne and Stacey had gone out earlier and bought some things to eat. I had a glass of orange juice and an apple, even though Mrs. Kilbourne couldn't guarantee it was organic. It was probably covered in pesticides.
Everyone was dressed and ready by ten. I thought it rather lazy and inconsiderate for some people to sleep so late. Greer had to be dragged out of bed at 9:45, which didn't surprise me at all. Mrs. Kilbourne assured us that the late start didn't matter, as Amsterdam is a late city. Most stores and restaurants don't even open until ten.
Mrs. Kilbourne took us to the post office to exchange our U.S. dollars for Euros. She tried to explain the exchange rates, but not well enough for anyone to understand. I decided I'd just have to remember that one U.S. dollar equals about .77 Euros. I'm used to relying on myself anyway. Next, we went to buy weekly tram passes. The trams run all over the city and would be our primary mode of transportation. Mrs. Kilbourne gave us each a tram schedule and city map, making us promise to carry them at all times.
Apparently thinking we were a bunch of children, Mrs. Kilbourne proceeded to deliver a speech on Amsterdam. "Now, girls, Amsterdam is a very safe city with an extremely low crime rate. You can go to any part of the city without worrying that it's dangerous. However, you must still remain alert. Be careful of pickpockets and unethical shopkeepers. They will cheat you. The primary language in Amsterdam is, of course, Dutch, although there are those who speak French or German. Almost everyone speaks English, so there shouldn't be any trouble with language barriers. I'm trusting that I can trust you girls. Don't disappoint me." Mrs. Kilbourne probably forgot that I'm from Los Angeles. I know how to handle myself on the streets.
We split up then. Mrs. Kilbourne and Shannon had an appointment with their cousin's attorney. Mrs. Carson and Greer took Maria and Amanda to the supermarket. (Thank goodness for Stacey's diabetes, otherwise I bet they wouldn't buy anything healthy). Mary Anne, Anna, Mallory, Jessi, and Tiffany left to sightsee with Mallory mumbling something about safety in numbers. Kristy and Abby wanted to do some paddleboat thing on a canal. Stacey and Claudia ran off to catch a tram without saying where they were going. (Oddly enough, Claudia appeared to be wearing Abby's clothes).
I didn't mind being left alone. I had my own plans anyway. I checked the tram schedule and the map, then jumped the next tram headed for the Dam Square. After about twenty minutes and several stops, I signaled the conductor that I needed out at the next stop by pushing the nearest red button. I must say, I was quite impressed with how smoothly I adjusted to Amsterdam transportation.
I exited the tram, consulted my map again, and headed down the street. The previous night I decided to devote the day to some research and detective work. There had to be a ghost in that attic. Where there's a ghost, there's a mystery. I've solved lots of mysteries in California and Stoneybrook. Sometimes my friends help me. I figured the library would have tons of information on Verbruggenhuis. Maybe someone was murdered there. Or, the Verbruggens might have hid a Jewish family during World War Two. It was up to me to ensure their souls finally found peace. I told you, the burdens in my life are abundant and great.
I checked the map once more. I should have reached the library by then, but it was nowhere in sight. I passed a small tree-lined square. Some tourists were sitting in the shade while street performers wandered around. There were jugglers and mimes and musicians. I probably would have stopped to watch if I was a kid. Since I'm not, I continued down the street, still in search of the library. I decided to take stock of my surroundings. I glanced around. The area was sort of ghetto-ish and run down. Far passed the street performers, the street was crowded with fast food restaurants (yuck!) and a few crumbling shops.
"Excuse me?" I asked a flower vendor. "I seem to be lost. What part of the city is this?"
"Leidseplein," he replied. The vendor was missing several teeth. No doubt from years of consuming sugar and artificial flavoring. If I hadn't been so upset, I'd have given him a stern lecture on oral hygiene.
"Leidseplein! I'm trying to get to Dam Square," I looked at the map once more. I couldn't imagine I made a mistake. Mrs. Kilbourne should have bought better maps.
"You're a good ways from Dam Square. Catch the tram down there," The vendor pointed to the end of the street. "Would you like to buy a flower?" He held a yellow tulip out to me.
"Are you kidding? Do you have any idea the chemicals that thing's been sprayed with?" I folded my map and stalked off. The ignorance of some people! I bet he eats meat and preservatives, too.
As I came to the end of the street, I noticed a line of picketers outside a McDonalds. They were carrying signs and chanting in Dutch. Any protest against a cruel, carnivorous machine like McDonalds is a protest I can get behind. I walked up to one of the protesters and tapped her on the shoulder.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"We're protesting the cultural degradation of the Leidseplein. This was once a community of peace, love, and spirituality. Sisters and brothers united as one. Until fast food chains moved in like a blight and sucked out the soul of the city, like a sucubus sucks the life from her unwitting prey," The girl raised her fist and shouted something in Dutch. Cheers erupted around her. She was obviously the leader and a powerful one at that. The girl was ordinary, even plain, in appearance - average height and weight with short chestnut hair. But, she seemed to glow, as if emitting the radiance of her beliefs.
"Give me a sign!" I cried.
The girl grinned and stuck out her hand. "I'm Suzanne van Dort,"
"Dawn Schafer from California. I, too, detest the cruel, carnivorous machine that serves itself hot, wrapped in unrecycled paper and claims to be a complete, well-balanced meal,"
Suzanne's grin widened. "Welcome aboard, Dawn Schafer,"
I raised my sign high in the air, shouting loud and proud. I picked up the Dutch slogans quickly, even though I didn't understand them. My friends might be content to waste their vacation on canal tours and window shopping, but I was going to work for a cause. I was going to restore culture and beauty to the Leidseplein!