see you later, not goodbye. part two

Remember my friend, Caroline? The other girl from Auburn who did her internship in Ireland, who I spent the Parisian part of my spring break with? Well she came to visit for my last weekend. It worked out perfectly, almost. Saskia and I left Ester’s house on Friday night and went to the train station in Arnhem where we both would be able to catch the 52 bus back to our respective homes. We located Caroline and got on the bus.

So, the way that the buses are laid out, there are several rows of two-seaters facing forward but at the front of the bus, there are a set of seats on either side of the aisle with a two-seater facing backward so that, hypothetically, four people could sit together like they were sitting around a dinner table. As we got on the bus there was one young man sitting in one of those clusters, but we thought nothing of it as we popped into the three remaining seats – with me sitting next to the guy, facing Caroline and Saskia. The first part of the journey passed without issue, me prattling on trying to bridge the gap between my two stranger friends. Probably half way through the journey home was when things got interesting. Out of nowhere our quiet seat companion erupted. I wish I was talking about a verbal eruption, I really, really do. But oh no, homefry turned into a human fountain, spewing vomit out in front him. We leapt up with various screeches as he stumbled to the trashcan built into the side of the bus. Upon further inspection, my friends had only been hit with some sideline shrapnel, but still. It was hardly even 22:00. Get it together, man.

playing dress up at the cheese museum 

As the man knelt by the trashcan the bus driver pulled over and opened the door, but when he was finished with the trashcan, the man just returned to his seat and the bus drove on. Needless to say we strategically relocated for the rest of the ride. When we reached my stop, I said ‘see you later’ to Saskia, taking care to avoid her puke flecked pants, and headed home.

The next morning we made a lazy start toward Amsterdam. A brief coffee stopover in Utrecht and an hour by train later, we were making our way through the crowded streets. Dropping our stuff at our hostel we set about exploring the city. The next two days I did my best to be a good tour guide, showing Caroline the big landmarks and making sure she had a wide sampling of cheese. We took a tour along the canals and visited the Cheese Museum, had plenty of coffee, and wore a hole in the bottom of our shoes. On Saturday we stumbled upon the world’s largest pillow fight in Dom Square and

world's largest pillow fight 

naturally joined the fray. Snatching artillery from a couple of guys we proceeded to beat and be beaten in the fluffy frenzy. For the rest of the day every time we passed a window or mirror I found a new feather to pull out of my hair.  

I left her early Monday morning to catch the train back to Renkum and began the tedious process of packing. I had some quick errands to run and didn’t do nearly enough before my host family came home and I decided that packing was less important.

I finally got everything jammed into a suitcase or the absurdly expensive box that I sent home midmorning on Tuesday. Between all the presents and snacks that my students, friends, and family had given me there was a considerable amount of “oh sh…. this isn’t going to fit”. Marlene and I climbed in the car around midday so that she could drop me at the train station. We arrived with plenty of time before the train arrived and hoisted my giant suitcase down the steps. Stepping onto the platform, we checked the train schedule to find that everything was running behind, everything. Apparently, the train had hit a person that morning throwing all the trains off. Panic started to flood my stomach as we drove further on to try to get ahead of the accident, but to no avail. All the trains were crawling if they were moving at all. And I thought my biggest issue was going to be the construction at Amsterdam Centraal. Luckily, Marlene offered to drive me all the way to Schipol Airport. We arrived with plenty of time to spare but by the time we got there I was so ready to check that bag and just be securely on the plane. It was only when the plane started it’s ascent that the weight of leaving flooded my psyche and I burst into tears. Which, if you know me at all, crying over anything, especially in public, is a really big deal.

Trying to stem my leaking eyes, it was impossible to repress the rush of memories as I tried to remind myself that it was ‘see you later’, not ‘goodbye’.