Lisa Brounstein’s Blog

My last day in Amsterdam was bittersweet.   Sima and I had a wonderful breakfast on the boat.   Then we walked around town on the way to her shop.   We poked in and out of little shops along the way.   The sky was beautiful the day after a heavy rain.   I always looked at the sky with Van Gogh in mind.   He loved the clouds and the light of Holland.   On my last day we had Van Gogh clouds. We had lunch at the cafe across from her salon.   It was cold the day after the rainy Sunday so I ordered soup.   It was a hearty vegetable soup of squash, potatoes and green beans with a fresh shaved mountain of Parmesan cheese floating in the center of the delicate broth.   It was served with a couple of slices of crusty bread.   We thought we would eat outside but it was just too cold.   We brought our plates inside and enjoyed the warmth of our lunch and of the heater next to our table. Then it was time for Sima hair.   We walked over to her salon where Sima worked her magic on my hair.   She brought my hair back to my original dark brown and layered some warmer dark brown highlights in.   I feel like I am walking around with her artwork on my head.

We stopped at the Albert Heijn on the way back to the boat.   I needed to pack so we decided to cook dinner at home.   She made an absolutely delicious meal of home made pesto sauce on fettuccine and an arugula salad.   Ben made outrageous garlic bread.   We sat and enjoyed our last meal together.   I was definitely   tense.   I had packed while Sima was cooking and I knew my bags were very heavy.   I had gotten up early and walked over to the Kaas-Brood shop to get some cheese to bring home.   50 Euro later I had some gouda to bring home.   Even though I had read it was okay to bring back I was definitely concerned it might be a problem.   Of course, the thought of leaving Amsterdam and my sister was weighing heavily on me as well.   I had checked the availability on my flights and knew I wouldn’t have a problem getting to JFK from Amsterdam but that my flight from JFK to LAX looked pretty full.   The next three flights from JFK looked progressively worse throughout the day.   It looked like I might have to layover another 9 hours and catch the late flight.   So, that was definitely giving me more to think about and worry about.

I got in bed relatively early that night.   At midnight, when I was just ready to turn off my light, Gnamish, the greatest cat alive, came to visit me on my final night.   He walked around my bed a couple of times doing laps, stopping at my face for love and snuggles. Then he left to turn in for the night with Sima and Ben.   I had a difficult time sleeping Monday night knowing I had a huge day of travel ahead of me.   Flying stand by made what is already difficult even more so.   Air travel just isn’t easy.   I don’t care what your shape or size it just isn’t an enjoyable experience.   Sure flying Business Class or First Class is much different than coach, aka steerage, but the process just isn’t easy. I woke up at 5a unable to sleep more I got up and to finish up my packing. Then I showered for the last time in the fish bowl.   No one was on the street that early so I had no looky loos.   Sima made coffee and we chatted a bit.   It was a beautiful morning.   The dusk sky was blue and hazy.   The moon was hanging over the city like it was still night time against the darkish morning sky.   I am sorry I didn’t take pictures but my head was busy with thoughts of the coming day.

We could have walked to Central Station with my bags but it made more sense to just call a cab.   They would take the 20 minute train ride back from the station so Ben could go to work and Sima could then go on to her salon.   The airport was hopping with travellers.   I had to check in at a little kiosk and then take my bags to another line to check them through.   I asked specifically about checking them all the way through to LAX but they insisted I could only check in to JFK.   It felt wrong.   I should have pushed them to check me all the way through.   I should have followed my hunch as my intuition knew better than the Delta/KLM employee at Schipol (Amsterdam Airport.)   I hugged Sima and Ben   goodbye.   I was very sad but didn’t cry.   My emotions were busy worrying about catching my flight and moving through my day.

After leaving Sima and Ben at the first security check point.   I had my passport stamped and carried on to my gate.   Security is different at the Amsterdam airport than it is in US airports.   I don’t know how it is at other European airports but here you go through security at your individual gates before you board.   I stood in line at my gate for the secondary passport/security check where they asked me questions about my stay in Amsterdam.   They asked why I was there and where I stayed and if anybody had given me any electronic items to carry on board.   They asked me if I packed my own bags.   After I was cleared to go through the next security check point I realized I hadn’t spoken to the gate agent.   I was told to leave the secure area and go back out and speak to her.   She informed me that it was “unlikely” that I would get Business Class to JFK and to take a seat.   She was rather unpleasant.   I asked if I had time to use the restroom.   I did.

Again, I found an interesting difference from the US compared to Amsterdam.   I am not a fan of public restrooms.   I am sorry to find myself talking about the restroom again, but this was fascinating to me.   Rather than give you paper seat covers, which is wasteful, there was a dispenser of toilet sanitizer on the wall with directions to spray it onto some toilet paper and clean the seat.   I thought that was rather ingenious!

I did have to go through security again, where I got the full work up.   I set off the alarm as I walked through the metal detector.   That is the first time that has happened in a long time.   A female security officer asked if it was okay for her to check me.   It wasn’t a problem until she patted down every inch of my body.   Again, that odd Dutch personal space thing.   In the US, when I have set off the alarm they use a metal detecting wand to find out what set the larger machine off.   But not in Amsterdam.   No joke if she didn’t rub down nearly every inch of my body.   My arms, my chest (under, over and in between my breasts without giving me the full breast squeeze) my thighs, my legs, my back.   It was a little bizarre.   As she finished my full body massage, I was beckoned over by another security officer who opened my carry on and my purse and asked me questions about my belongings.   The thing that was funny is I had two lighters and three books of matches that I had bought as gifts that didn’t make them blink an eye.   There was no mention of my baggie of liquids either.   Airport security seems so arbitrary and I don’t feel any safer because of it.

As it turned out, I was able to fly Business Class to JFK. It was a bit cramped as it was packed with people.   But it wasn’t nearly as cramped as coach would have been.   We were delayed a bit on the tarmac in Amsterdam and I only had an hour and a half to make my connecting flight.   Of course, in NY I had to clear passport control where they stamped my passport and checked my customs form.   Then I had to claim my luggage and head over to customs where they wanted to talk to me about the “food” I had brought back with me.   I had packed my bags with some different kinds of cookies and mustard and mayonnaise in metal tubes (like toothpaste.) I had brought beer glasses home from the Brouwerij ‘t IJ (one didn’t make it…) and some other goodies.   I really buy a lot.   I had wanted to bring home some of the fabulous Belgian salami we had eaten but had read online that it is illegal to bring meat products of any kind into the US.   You can’t bring fruit or vegetables in either.   (Obviously, bringing lighters and matches is okay though.) I was pretty careful about that and I was honest with the customs agents.   However, it took time.   They scanned two of my three bags and asked me about the contents of each.   I told her, “cookies, socks, tubes of mayo and mustard, t-shirts, tampons…”   She started laughing and said, “Did you say tampons?!”   To which I replied, “Yes.”   She couldn’t believe it she kept saying to her colleagues that she couldn’t believe I said “tampons” and that that was the most honest response she had ever gotten.   It was an odd and funny experience.   I don’t think tampons are that hilarious but it got me through customs without actually having to open my bags.   Unfortunately, when I got to the place to recheck my bags for the remainder of my travels I came to find out that my intuition in Amsterdam had been correct and they should have checked me all the way through.   Becuase they hadn’t checked me and my bags through to Los Angeles I had to walk over to one of the agents and check in again recheck my bags.   And, because I had taken all that time in Customs, and the ensuing laugh riot about my feminine products, it was now 55 minutes before my flight.   Per Ms. Friendly at the counter I couldn’t check in for my flight because I had missed the hour prior to take off deadline.   There was no discussion about over riding the system or calling a supervisor to get me on the flight.   It was, essentially, “Too bad.   I am putting you and your bags on the next flight.”   I had already checked and knew the following flight, the flight she was putting me on the stand by list for, was nearly full when I had checked the night before.   I could feel myself welling up with tears.   There was nothing I could do.   I was at Norma’s, the Delta employee who works in the bowels of JFK’s, mercy.   And, she had none. I had to wait 3 hours for my next flight.

The upside is the gate agent for my flight was nothing short of kind and helpful.   There wasn’t a chance I was going to get Business Class to LAX with 15 people ahead of me on the list.   There were 10 seats available in coach.   When I explained my predicament of having a large ass and needing an empty seat next to me she laughed and was so great with me.   When the plane started to board she called me over and asked, “Is a window and a middle seat good for you?”   How she treated me washed away the bad taste that Norma had left with me.   As I sat in my coach seat the flight attendant came over the PA asking people to move quickly and get to their seats as it was going to be a full flight.   I smiled knowing I was going to be comfortable (The seats are so close together.   The seat in front of me was nearly touching me.   There was a slim chance that I would be able to use my tray table), or as comfortable as I could be in coach, the rest of the way home.

I know that travelling and specifically air travel is difficult no matter ones size.   But given that I am a woman of size I am clearly biased in my consideration that it is more difficult for fat people.   Besides dragging heavy luggage filled with clothes that are twice the size of an average person (think about it, if I am twice your size than logically my clothes will be twice the size of yours.   Like a word problem in math, it figures that if we bring the same amount of clothing on a trip and my clothes are twice the size of yours than my clothes will also weigh twice as much.) Then there is the whole walking the miles of airport terminal carrying my largess as well.   Then there is getting on the plane down the long breezeways and then getting on the plane through the small doors and down the the tiny aisles.   As I approach a plane the first thing I do is stop and rub and give a little “you can do it” pat to the outside of the plane.   It’s a superstition with which I am just unwilling to tempt fate.   Then as I walk onto the plane I inform the first flight attendant I see that I will need a seatbelt extender and where I am sitting. I was very lucky on this trip.   I was able to fly Business Class from New York to Amsterdam and from Amsterdam to New York.   I was also very fortunate that on my Los Angeles to JFK flight and back, even though I had coach, I was able to get an empty seat next to me.   There isn’t a chance I could fit comfortably in a coach seat with the arm rest down.   Not only would I be miserable but the person next to me would be also.   There are a lot of considerations being a person of size and travelling.   I have to say with this trip the pay off far outweighed the cost of having some discomfort. This fat girl will continue to travel and will continue to write about her experiences.   I also promise to not make a habit of writing in the third person either.   It just seemed fitting (ha, I said fitting) in this moment.

We spent the day yesterday preparing for the Halloween party on the boat.   I brought decorations from Los Angeles and Sima and Ben road their bikes to a friend who is a caterer to get pumpkins.   The pumpkins we kept seeing in the markets were different than the pumpkins we get in the US.   Their friend ordered some for them so we could carve pumpkins.   Then Sima rode her bike to the grocery store for things while Ben washed the outside of the boat.   Meanwhile, I walked over to the Saturday market for supplies.   I decided to make chopped chicken liver.     I bought fresh onions and garlic (I still had some fresh thyme from the week before) at one of the outdoor stands and then walked over to that amazing butcher shop a couple of blocks away.

The butcher shop was PACKED with people spilling out the double doors onto the street.   I walked over and realized people were taking numbers.   My number was 80.   When I arrived the number sign was on 47.   So, I waited with all the other people.   Of course, they came by with a tray of some slices of unidentifiable meat log samples.   I obliged and took the one that seemed to not have giant chunks of fat in it.   In hindsight, I wonder if those hunks were cheese.   It was around a half hour wait.   The people were all so friendly.   I had to listen for the beep of the changing number and then look at the number to see where we were as I couldn’t understand them when they hollered the numbers.   When it was my turn I walked up to the front and was mesmerized for a moment by all the different things they had in the cases.   The livers weren’t on display.   Of all the things, they don’t sell chicken fat.   They sell chicken parts. They sell whole chickens. But they don’t trim the chickens like we do at home.   So, if I wanted to get chicken fat I would have had to buy chicken and trim it myself.   After the butcher I tried a Le Poulerie (a poultry butcher down the street who might have had chicken fat but was testy that I had bought my liver elsewhere.) He had goose fat.   I even went to a meat stand in the market and asked for chicken fat to no avail.   I will say, the butcher shop I went to smelled so much cleaner and looked so much cleaner than most meat departments in grocery stores at home.   I don’t know what kind of laws they have as far as cleanliness but it smelled so fresh in there.   The glass cases were immaculate and the floors were pristine.   A beautiful big marmalade cat sauntered into the shop while we were all waiting.   He weaved in between people’s legs.   He came to me for some loving.   Then he hopped up on a bench and sat next to one of the waiting customers.   No one blinked an eye that there was a cat in the butcher shop.

As I was walking back down through the Saturday market to head back to the boat, who should I see walking in the crowd towards me?   Yes, it was Lester the Molester.   He was so excited to see me.   He smiled a big smile at me and started to speak to me.   The market was very busy and he was pushing his bike through the crowds as he had been doing last week when we were at the tram stop when he kept touching me.   The crowds of people worked to my benefit as the tide of people pushed him farther past me.   I took the opportunity to pick up my pace.   I looked back and saw he had managed to maneuver his bike in the crowd and was following me.   Again, the big crowd of tall Dutch people worked in my favor as I slipped into someone’s booth and snuck out the back side.   I walked back up the back of the market and scurried back into the crowd.   That had me walking behind him.   He never found me after that.   I am sure he is just a harmless old man.   Who rubbed me the wrong way, both literally and figuratively.

I decided to be a cat for Halloween.   It didn’t take a lot of effort.   I gave myself whiskers and an upside down triangle nose.   Sima and Ben were a pirate couple.   Arrrrr. People started arriving around 9p.   Sima and Ben have some really lovely friends.   One group of their friends are French.   Really wonderful people!   I have so enjoyed spending time with them this trip.   Last night was no exception.   At one point last night it had gotten warm on the boat so I was sitting outside on the landing with a couple of people when more people arrived.   This woman was standing above me when I feel something heavy hit my thigh.   Then I heard a thud and then a splash.   Yes, she had dropped her keys.   First they hit me, then the boat step and then they splashed into the canal.   That is it for those keys.   They are gone forever.   She had just locked her bike up across the street and her house key was on the ring as well. She was much less upset than one would imagine.

Everyone was standing around the table eating when I walked in to use the restroom.   I was standing there in the bathroom when I realized my hair was moving.   I had a big brown spider climbing down the side of my hair.   It wasn’t a Halloween prank. It was real!   I didn’t scream.   I didn’t want to make a scene. I shook my head but then didn’t see where he went.   So, I came out of the bathroom and got Sima’s attention.   Both she and Ben came over and checked me for the spider.   We couldn’t find him.   For a moment, I thought maybe is was the great Dommelsch beer I had been drinking and that my eyes were playing tricks on me. I went back to do what I has intended on doing and there he was sitting on the counter blending into the stained wood.   I sent him away…far, far away.

Some of the women who came to the party last night were from Finland. They brought some licorice liquor.   I am not a fan of licorice but it seemed impolite to not oblige them and take the glass.   The liquid was black and syrupy and the licorice smell was as bit noxious.   Someone else obviously didn’t like it either and left it on the storage box on the side of the boat next to where I had sat back down with a wonderful French woman.   Then a very nice Dutch man who works with Ben stepped out onto the edge of the boat.   As he came out of the door his coat caught the edge of the glass filled with the black sticky liquid.   It was a slow motion moment where there was nothing I could do. There was no where to go as the liquor spilled down onto me and my coat and my coat pocket.   For the rest of the night I smelled licorice and the side of my coat was sticky at first and then it just got stiff.   I don’t know that my coat will ever recover from this trip.

Around 1:30a   the party started to wind down.   It didn’t mean people were done partying though.   They were just done partying here.   Everyone was going to go to a bar called Mini Bar.   It’s a bar where you get your own mini fridge filled with mini bottles of different liquor.   You pay for what you drink.   For those who know me, I love mini things.   Mini is a good marketing tool if you want me to purchase something.   Last night, however, the pull of mini wasn’t strong enough to make me want to go out.   I had had a really great evening filled with really good conversation and some great beers and snacks.   I didn’t need to go out and drink more.   I stayed behind and cleaned up the boat a bit and washed my face and fed the cat.   It was a welcome time alone for the hour and a half until Sima and Ben got back.   Then we hung out together and chatted about the evening and snacked on some of the leftovers.   Again, I found myself going to bed at 3:30 in the morning.

Today we had tentative plans to maybe go to the zoo.   It’s a bit cold and rainy and blustery so I am not sure what we will be doing.   I have been so lucky with the weather here.   They say that October is the rainiest month in Amsterdam.   This trip I have been fortunate to only have had a little rain.   Mostly it has been hazy and cloudy with patches of sun and blue sky.   I can’t wait to process all my digital photos and share them.   The sky here seems so different than at home.   I know it’s the same universe but the way the clouds patch the sky and the hue of the blue just doesn’t feel like Los Angeles.

We had a lovely breakfast of heavy dark bread I bought at the outdoor market yesterday and eggs.   I have never seen a yolk like this.   The eggs look just like eggs we get in the states but the yolks are bright orange.   I assume it is from the chicken’s feed.   Like most things I have eaten here in Holland the taste is clean and fresh.   We toasted some of the pumpkin seeds from one of the carved pumpkins.   Now Sima and Ben are making an apple pie with the apples that didn’t get   eaten last night.   It smells so nice in here and it’s warm which is a lovely comparison to the cold and gloomy rain outside

Tonight we are thinking of going back to the great Belgian restaurant and then possibly to an Improv show in the Leidseplein.   Tomorrow Sima is going to do my hair.   Then Tuesday morning I am hoping to get on my flight with my stand by ticket and head home.