Traveling is really no fun. Between the bus from Emerson to Logan, the loafing in the terminal, the flights to Dublin then Shannon then Amsterdam, the stamping of my passport at Dutch immigration (I think the employee simply verified I was indeed a biped and then let me into the country), the train to Utrecht and then to Nijmegen, the bus to Well (this loud, annoying ride showed me not only American 13-year-olds who are idiots) and the 10-minute half-dazed dragging of my luggage (don't pity me, I have rolling duffels) to the castle gates, it took 20 hours to get from A-B (or, like, M).
I defeated jet lag, though, with naps all throughout, and functioned on a normal sleep schedule from the time I got here.
Sunday brought the Patriots-Chargers game. Ben and I at first tried to get the game to work through Skype, and then we tried to find an Internet TV tuner, but our efforts (Ben's, really) were in vain. But mercifully, wonderfully, some others found the game on ORF--a Dutch TV network (or something). The commentary was in Dutch, which is only slightly less substantive than John Madden or Boomer Esiason or whoever was doing the game.
Stuff is smaller here. That about as profound as my cultural observations are going to get. Stuff is small. The largest container of water at Meer Mart (Well's smallish supermarket) is 1.5 liters, a far cry from the 3 gallon-large tankards at Market Basket.
My room is small but spacious, given that I didn't (or couldn't) take most of my crap with me.
I'm tired. Time to pretend to do homework and then read and then really do homework and then retire.
I'll write about my weekend in Amsterdam very soon. Goodnight!
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