Amsterdam, a lucid dream

by Megan Felix (United States of America)

A leap into the unknown Netherlands

I become an infant every time I’m in a vehicle. Once the wheels begin to rumble under this temporary home for passengers, I fall into a deep sleep, that usually lasts until I arrive at my destination. But last year, I woke up abruptly on my train ride from London to Amsterdam, after hearing the metal of the wheels screeching along the tracks. My eyes shot open and all the passengers around me, including my tiny family, were fast asleep. I peered out of the window to find trees. Lots of them, zooming past us as if they were the ones moving, while we were at a standstill. The sun was bright, the houses were made of unfamiliar shapes and the sky was a crisp blue I had only seen in movies. At first I thought I was dreaming. Mostly because I had only been on an underground iron dragon, the mechanical reptiles connecting to all streets in every neighboring borough of NYC, where I lived. But this was a different species of dragon. This one moved so fast that it could fly through countries for less than two hours. I was in awe. I kept my eyes open, focusing on all that I could see, until I spotted a clan of bikes. Bikes were everywhere. In parking lots. Cruising through the streets. In driveways. On porches. Everywhere. Mountain bikes, hybrid bikes, scooters, fixies. This country happened to have more bikes than cars. This is where the lucid dream began. The flying dragon came to a halt and the passengers quickly grabbed their luggage while piling off the train. We were at Central Station. A busy building with so many diverse faces, for a moment I thought I might still be in New York. We hopped on another train to Sloterdijk Station and scurried to our Holiday Inn, which was literally one door away from the station, with a mini supermarket in between. The only way I could describe the feeling that filled my heart was HOME. The cobblestone road was accompanied by an array of bikes and sat next to a canal of peaceful water. I could feel the sun beaming on me, like a welcoming kiss from a family member I hadn’t seen in ages. We made our way into the hotel, checked in, took the elevator to the fourth floor and found humor in a coincidental marking of “420” on our suite’s door, with a no smoking sign right underneath. After unpacking our bags we fell into the clouds of our downy-infused comforters, looked at our maps and decided where we would take this lucid dream next. Everything felt like a blur as I soaked in the entire experience. I don’t even think I heard my family say that we would head back to Central Station and visit the heart of Amsterdam. “Let’s try the Red Light District,” my brother said. “What about a coffee shop,” my cousin interjected with a sly smile while nibbling on a Stroopwafel she had purchased from the mini market next-door to the hotel. “Maybe we should get something to eat first,” my mother suggested. And we followed her lead. We made our way back to the station, scanned our barcodes to pass through the clear doors and headed back to Central Station. Upon exiting the building, we were all greeted by tourists and locals, walking both slowly and quickly in and out of alleyways or riding bikes along a topsy-turvy trail. For a moment I couldn’t differentiate the sidewalk from the road, as they spilled into each other like glasses of cobblestone brick. Some roads were made for people, some made for cars and bikes, some were made for walking and some were made for waiting for lights to change. Others were filled with mechanical trolleys that glided along a thin track. With our phones in hand, we snapped photos while mimicking the walk and speed of locals as we crossed a bridge that took us into a passageway of stores, cafes, beer bars, magical mushroom shops and museums. While I knew I could control this lucid dream, I decided to let the spiritual energy of this magical place guide me.