There's not enough space on this postcard to tell you all the good I've done for Amsterdam. Since my arrival, Suzanne's group has accomplished so much. Of course, I can't take all the credit, but after Suzanne, I'm the largest contributing factor.
Love and Sunshine,
Dawn
I've moved a lot between California and Connecticut. I keep looking for where I belong. Well, I finally found that place. It's Amsterdam. Everything I've ever wanted is here. America is far too shallow and wasteful for me. Maybe Vista has an exchange program with a school in Amsterdam.
I spent every waking moment on the campaign to restore the Ledseplein to its former glory. Everyone was dibbly impressed with my enthusiasm and commitment. They didn't expect an American to be so not self-centered. That's just how I am, forever working to tear down stereotypes.
Suzanne and her friends were way more distant than the BSC and even my California friends. Only with Suzanne's group could I discuss the rain forest, pesticides, and the importance of crop rotation without anyone falling asleep or giggling like an ignorant, earth-hating bafoon.
Suzanne van Dort was amazing. And, she was only fourteen years old! (I knew that by age fourteen my environmental success would eclipse hers. That's just the way I am). Suzanne was such a charismatic speaker that she'd gained a huge following of older teens. Her speeches had a hypnotic quality. Suzanne recognized my dedication and resourcefulness early on and allowed me into her inner-circle.
Until I came along the inner-circle only consisted of two others - Suzanne's best friend and right hand person, Johanna van Rijn and a Russian named Vlad. Johanna was also fourteen. She had long long long straw-colored hair that she wore in braids. Mary Anne wore her hair like that when we first met. It looked babyish on Mary Anne, but on Johanna? Totally fresh.
I didn't know much about Vlad. No one did. Suzanne and Johanna guessed his age to be nineteen. He moved around Amsterdam a lot, crashing on people's couches until they kicked him out. Vlad was what Stacey and Claudia call a Babe. He was about five foot nine with thick, wavy black hair and a thick black eyebrow, which he usually hid behind dark sunglasses. Vlad always dressed in black jeans and tight black t-shirts. He was kind of the nervous sort, frequently looking over his shoulder in public.
After our ten hour protests in the Ledseplein the four of us would go over to Johanna's apartment near the Ledseplein. Johanna lived with her grandparents. She hadn't seen her parents in four years. I don't know what happened to them. Suzanne once made a vague mention of a Polish prison, an air conditioner factory, and industrial terrorism.
Tuesday evening, we were lounging around Johanna's bedroom snacking on unsalted sunflower seeds (we decided to boycott sodium after learning that it causes soft water. The earth's water is a beautiful natural resource) and drinking fresh-squeezed orange juice (only natural sugars).
"I feel better already!" I exclaimed. "If only everyone would realize the benefits of healthy living. No processed sugars or artificial flavorings..."
"And sodium," Johanna added with a shudder.
"When will society see the error of its dietary ways?" I asked.
Johanna shrugged, sadly. "I wish we could make people see it our way," She fiddled with the end of a braid.
Suzanne, Johanna, and I heaved a collective sigh. (Vlad was busy chugging the rest of the orange juice). After another sigh, we fell into silent contemplation. How could we show all of Amsterdam that our cause was right and true? Usually, I'm overflowing with great ideas (more so than Kristy) but that evening I drew a blank.
For awhile, I just watched Johanna pull at a hole in her acid-wash jeans. Actually, all of Johanna and Suzanne's clothes are full of holes. Their entire wardrobes are from thrift stores. They refuse to directly support the insensitive, unfeeling global corporations that exploit the third world slaves who mass produce their cheap, poorly-made clothing. Instead, Suzanne and Johanna shop at thrift stores, wear each item until it disintegrates to a pile of thread, then write a thank you note to the exploited workers who made the clothing.
Johanna also only wears pants and long-sleeves because she believes shorts and t-shirts promote global warming. Another belief of theirs that I truly respect is that Suzanne and Johanna wear white exclusively. They suspect harsh clothing dyes are somehow damaging the earth, probably by leaking into water sources or through vaporous gases released into the ozone layer. They've started a letter writing campaign to Oxford University encouraging a comprehensive study.
Since I respect and admire their beliefs, I adopted their personal dress code as my own. I tore the label off my Gloria Vanderbilt jeans and used a pair of scissors to create an impressive holey look. Unfortunately, they weren't acid-wash. So, I dumped some liquid bleach on them and threw them into the washing machine. The result was pretty fresh. I didn't have any plain white shirts, so on Tuesday I wore a baggy white t-shirt with a picture of a globe and the words Don't Pollute My Earth. Suzanne and Johanna gave it a pass on account of the positive environmental message. Vlad grunted his approval.
"I have an idea!" Suzanne suddenly shouted.
"What? What?" Johanna and I asked excitedly.
Suzanne held up a hand. "Quiet," She straightened in her chair and cleared her throat. "All right. We've been leading the protest of the Ledseplein fast food restaurants for nearly three weeks. Yet, tourists and Amsterdamers aren't paying any attention. All those so-called restaurants are thriving. Especially McDonald's. It's time for something drastic. No more marches and signs and chants," Suzanne jumped out of her chair and pumped her fist in the air. "We will stand up and say, 'Sorry Mr. Corporate Machine. No longer will we allow you to pollute and pervert our city and our culture. We don't want reheated patties and soggy french fries. We want freedom!'"
Johanna and I sprang to our feet, clapping wildly. In the corner, Vlad grunted.
Suzanne climbed onto the chair and raised her arms over her head. "There comes a time when every cause must become a revolution. We will liberate every man, woman, child, and cow in the northern Netherlands!"
By then, Johanna and I weren't just clapping. We were also stomping our feet and shrieking at the top of our lungs.
Someone pounded on the bedroom door and a craggy voice yelled. "Stilte! Quiet!"
"Sorry, Granny!" Johanna shouted.
Suzanne hopped off the chair. "We have much planning to do. There are arrangements to make."
"My cousin Wilhem can get us some ammonium nitrate and diesel fuel," Johanna volunteered.
"We're not doing that," snapped Suzanne. "Now, move into a tight circle. We don't want anyone to overhear." She dropped her voice to a whisper," This is what we're going to do..."