still getting chocolate all over my face at age 21. Some things never change.
Click here for the Amsterdam and Bruges guide
This has been the week of chocolate. It was the Chocolate Festival here in Florence this week, which was incredible. So. Much. Chocolate. I would like to thank the Florentines for organizing this event in my honor. I was in chocolate covered heaven. And I couldn’t stop singing “Willy Wonka”. For those of you who aren’t familiar with my love of chocolate: when I was little I had three chocolate-scented shirts. One said “Save the Earth: it’s the only planet with chocolate”, one was tie-dye with chocolates all over it, and the other had a picture of a girl with chocolate all over her face and it said “where did all the chocolate go?”. I was also banned from chocolate for a couple of years after ruining all of my clothes. The Zaretsky’s would smuggle chocolate into my system by throwing me in a large t-shirt, feeding me my chocolatey elixir, and then bathing me. One might say I had a problem.
Friday morning, Steph and I went to Amsterdam, which is one of my new favorite cities, and it was so unexpected. Our first day was very strange, and I will explain it with a series of events that are confusing and random:
1. Tom was on our flight. Oh you don’t remember Tom? That’s because he was our waiter at a restaurant two weeks ago. He made us delicious salads even though the kitchen was technically closed, and said he was going to the US in a couple of weeks until May. So we said “aww sucks we’ll never see you again” and left. And then he sat behind us on the flight.
2. When we arrived at the hotel, Roel made us casual pancakes. It was bizarre.
3. We left and got random makeup essentials at a nearby store, and when we returned Roel knocked on our door and gave us “welcome champaigne and bar nuts”. Thanks, Roel!
I'm sorry- what does this have to do with diamonds?
4. The Diamond museum mentioned 9/11 on its timeline of diamond-related events. 9/11 had no relation. We are still confused. Reminds me of when my dad mentioned metal detectors in my Bat Mitzvah toast. They also had a diamond-bedazzled Starry Night, which I appreciate since I got none of that at the Van Gogh museum.
5. We took a nap and literally the second we woke up, Roel called us and asked if we had dinner yet. When we said no, he asked if we wanted him to recommend places for us.
6. We went to the Van Gogh museum at 8:00 and there was a casual cocktail party with a DJ and soft jazz and wine and cheese. WHAT. Two things that really impacted me from our Van Gogh experience: it’s so sad that we will never see the colors as he painted them because of time, dust, and chemical reactions. Also, he lived in Nuenan and I think that that’s a very funny name.
7. We stumbled into a multi course dinner accidentally, and didn’t talk the entire meal.
And that’s basically my thoughts on our first day in a nutshell. I also urged Steph to be creative with her I AMsterdam poses. No one likes a cliche.
The next day Carly and Ally arrived!!! It was SOOO nice to see them (HEY ALLY). We walked around the Flower Market, Rembrandt Square, Jewish Quarter, etc. Rijks museum was good except kind of small and I wasn’t really into it.
The next day we got up early to go to BRUGES. I love this city. It is like it’s the Nutcracker all the time here. We took a tour, and the bus driver on the way there spoke for almost 3 hours straight. In both English and Spanish. And he told the same terrible jokes in both languages. Ugh. I fell asleep on my sunglasses, and got a huge bruise/mark on my forehead. I think I’m the first person to have received an injury of this nature. I’m impossible. We walked around the city eating the most amazing chocolate in the world, Belgian waffles, and scoping out the lace stores. Yes, this is the city of chocolate and lace, yes it was essentially designed for my preferences. I want to live in a brick house in the Belgian countryside. Mom, Dad, in case you didn’t get the hint I will be more explicit. I would like a brick house in the Belgian countryside.
please contact Steph if you're in the .0005% of people who've seen "In Bruges"
When we returned to Amsterdam we ate dinner and hit up the Red Light District. It was really depressing. I guess I’ve always been sensitive to the plight of prostitutes, starting when I was 6 and had to be escorted from Les Mis to the lobby during “Lovely Ladies” while I sobbed hysterically. It was like being at the zoo, there were all just standing behind glass panes while tourists gawked and judged. It was sad. Also there was a family with young children perusing the streets. Someones going to have a lot of questions to answer. Also I could not be the only one who thought of Vandersexxx and Liz Lemon for the most part of i t.
The next day we woke up early, had lunch at the Pancake Bakery, and went to the Anne Frank house.
The Anne Frank House was a surreal experience. But I want to start the AF section with some dark humor, because it’s about to get real deep and depressing here. Freshman year we had a “High School Stereotypes” mixer, and I decided to go as Rachel Berry because I was in the middle of a really big Glee kick. I picked out an argyle shirt, a high wasted skirt, did my hair like Rachel did, and was set. I went to the movies, and they had this thing where you decorated paper stars for charity. I thought “wow this is perfect! I’ll get one and color it yellow and gold so people will know I’m Rachel Berry because of how she always signs her name with a gold star”. Good one, Alyssa. EVERYONE will get that minor detail. So I get it, and pin it to my shirt. Yes, ladies and gentlemen. I actually attended a mixer dressed as Anne Frank with what was essentially a yellow Jood star on my shirt. Awkward.
Same Lea Michele. Totally different characters.
So now that we’ve got that out of our system, on to Anne Frank House. Wow. I just felt this weird, evil, ghostlike energy the entire time and it was a bit overwhelming- I had a lump in my throat and at parts was really on the verge of tears. You just have to think about all the lives that were lost, and how strange it is that their line just ended with them right there in the concentration camps- no children or grandchildren to tell their stories to, no diaries left behind. She was a remarkable girl- the tour was haunting and somber but yet you could feel Anne’s optimism and insight- but she was also unremarkable. Her story was just one of 6,000,000 and we don’t know anything about the other 5,999,999. What if her diary had been destroyed- she would have just faded into history, unacknowledged. Just like what happened to the millions of others. And that’s a terrifying thought. Think of Margot and Peter- two secondary characters in her story who we barely know anything about even though they lived through it too. 
And then there was the quote I read on the wall from her diary: “One day this terrible war will be over. The time will come when we will be people again, and not just Jews! We can never be just Dutch, or just English, or whatever, we will always be Jews as well. But then, we’ll want to be.” That really struck me as a universal truth. She’s a very extreme example of course, but she represents someone who was persecuted for a trait that she just was, and even as a 13 year old she understood this and knew that eventually the persecution would stop and she would still want that trait. So many people don’t like or want to change a trait about them just to blend in more with society, and yet here was a young girl who who actually in danger of being tortured and killed because of her Jewishness, and even she knew that it wasn’t something she wanted to give up. Really makes you think.
After this philosophical and brooding experience we went to the “Heineken experience.” They really are taking liberties by calling one part of it a “ride”, and it was pretty underwhelming. But we learned how to properly drink beer, which I guess is good.
All in all, I’m obsessed with Amsterdam. It’s so charming and yet has the dirty side to it and is completely full of tragic and inspiring history.
When we got home, Steph and I were joking with Nico and Steph jokingly asked him if he thinks we’re gaining weight. He didn’t say no. Awkward.
On a side note: today in wines we were describing the personality of the Riesling we were tasting, and the teacher described it as a child during the summer. To me that was particularly meaningful because 95% of the Riesling I’ve ever consumed was consumed in Cornell in general, on wine tours in particular. And so I always associate it with the carefree aura of wine tours during the days when Cornell is sunny and beautiful and we’re surrounded by friends and sunglasses and debauchery and no responsibilities. Kind of like a child in summer.
While I’m discussing seasons and on a wild tangent, I was listening to my jamzz (read: musical recordings) and this one lyric “hers is the blush of early springtime, warm summer harvest waits right there” made me realize for the first time that my life in particular could be quantified in terms of seasons. So I’ve been internally debating which month I am right now. I’m feeling a solid May/June- but it’s unclear what is the threshold of summer (I almost worded this as “..unclear what the threshold of summer is” but I remembered Aunt Carole talking about how you should never end a sentence with a preposition, so I changed it). And these are the wild roads of my stream of conscious.
And Happy Birthday Dayna. Here are some pics of the week in review:
Bruges
whatisshedoing 