We’re in D.C. for Adaptive Path’s User Experience Week, and we’ve decided to roll with the baby’s jetlag, as midnight to 8 a.m. is a far more awesome schedule than his usual 9 p.m. to 5 a.m. It’s a much bigger conference this year, and AP encouraged a few of the speakers to bring their babies along (which partially explains the much higher proportion of female speakers than you typically see at other conferences). The presentations have been surprisingly moving so far — a lot of speakers who are really using design to change people’s lives in meaningful ways. More later.
Category: Travel
Amsterdam Photos
Me: I want to marry this city.
Bryan: I want to make out with it and tell it I’ll call it later.
Check
http://www.db798.com/pictobrowser.swf
Amsterdam goals:
1. Sample unpasteurized cheese at the Wegewijs Cheese Shoppe (Rozengracht 32).
2. Visit the Looier antiques market.
3. See what it’s like to smoke pot legally at The Greenhouse.
4. Try raw herring in season.
5. Choose flowers for the apartment at the floating Bloemenmarkt.
6. Buy some Dutch chocolate at Puccini Bomboni.
7. See van Gogh’s self portrait in real life.
8. Take a boat ride on the canal with the baby.
Yes Hans, I Totally Do
In the lobby of the Felix Meritis in Amsterdam:
“There are no trusted wireless networks here, do you want to join HANSNET?”
3.785 Litres
Our first day in Amsterdam, I approach the counter to order my coffee:
-May I have a latte?
-Yes!
-This may be a silly question, but do you have lowfat milk?
-What do you mean? For your coffee?
– Yes. I usually order my lattes with lowfat milk, but I don’t think they have that here.
-No, we don’t have that.
-OK, no problem.
-Why do you want that? You don’t want foam?
-No. We do that because the lattes in the states are the size of a gallon of milk, and I don’t want to get fat.
-Ah. How much is a gallon?
The Coolest Thing You Could Say
You arrive at the Las Vegas airport with a group of exhausted, hung-over bachelorettes. You sleepwalk through check in, and slouch together at the gate in indoor sunglasses and smoke-stale tank tops. There is a collective sigh.
“Fuck. I have so much blogging to catch up on.”
Hank Has Jetlag
Little burbling baby? The only people in Amsterdam who are awake and happy at 3:30 a.m. are high or cavorting with prostitutes. Go to bed, kid.
Advice
We head back to Amsterdam Tuesday. On our last visit I was oblivious to my new state of pregnancy, which made me very moody (you may recall the Midget Busker Incident). I’m hoping the entire city won’t seem so vaguely uncomfortable this time around. Of course, this time we’ll have a baby with us, so perhaps that’s wishful thinking. Speaking of which, comments on taking international flights with infants and “Amsterdam with a baby” ideas would be much appreciated.
Coming Home
Thus far, I’ve spent 32 waking hours in a car in the last seven days. Apologies for the lack of posts, I thought the place where we were staying had Internet access, but I was not correct. I am an utter failure at the NaBloPoMo experiment.
Yesterday, we stopped for a van that had slid off the road into a ditch in Nevada. There were three adults and a two-year-old girl in the van. None of them spoke English, and none of them had warm clothes. I stumbled along in halting Spanish, and figured out that two of the adults (the ones with the baby) were deaf and possibly mute. I briefly wondered how we managed to end up in a David Lynch movie.
We took those two and the kid to a dubious bar/grocery called Water Hole #1, and explained the situation to a weathered, unhappy bartender. “What am I supposed to do with them?” he asked. We told him we’d return to tell the other guy where they were, and he’d pick them up.
We bought them some food and drinks, and wrote down what was happening in Spanish so they’d know. As we left, one of the drunk patrons was ambling toward the counter with a variety box of travel-sized cereals for the little girl.
Right now we’re in a hotel in Reno, preparing for the rest of the drive home. First, we’ll need to get chains. And about 16 magazines. And at least three tubes of chapstick.
Tomorrow I’ll return to our regularly scheduled programming. I’m in karmic debt for six posts. Fortunately, I’ve got some time on my hands.
Traveling in Comfort and Style
Bryan and I have a wedding to attend, so we took a red eye to Boston last night. If there’s anything more enjoyable than a red eye when you’re pregnant, it’s boarding the plane with wet pants.
Why were my pants wet, you ask? Excellent question, reader! The answer is, I sat in yet another Mystery Wet Spot! Mystery Wet Spot, Part II!
We had a stopover in Dallas, so I plugged in my computer and hunkered down on the carpet. The carpet was wet. Not globally wet, specifically wet. It was wet only in the exact spot where I was sitting.
Then our flight boarded and I was trapped for three hours in damp pants. Pants damp with fluid of unknown origin. Something inside me broke on that flight — something small but integral. If you need me, I’ll be rocking in the corner.
Mighty Girl 