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Is it safe to say that we all love America? Land of the free, home of the brave; green, green pastures and opportunities for money, love and lots of laughter. Oh New York, New York, the big red apple! Time Square, the World Trade Center— formerly the Twin Towers, seeing the naked cowboy in winter. San Francisco Golden Gate Bridge to visiting the Grand Canyon and the wildlife in Yosemite National Park. A month long road trip across all 50 states in a drop top Volkswagen Beetle with the wind in my face and through my kinky black hair; enjoying grits, chitterlings, cornbread, collard greens, some good ole Southern cooking. Good times it was but I’ve never been there though, that’s all in my mind. It doesn’t really matter that I’ve not yet lived this American dream many of us are chasing, not when I get to live that suppressed European dream I never knew existed. But what to expect though? No beaches, barren lands, dilapidated dusty old brick museums, bland food and people talking as if they are gargling saliva; the tragedy I was to face in Holland. After 14 hours of travel, a small grey shuttle bus arrived at the airport with the word Steigenberger along the side, I hopped on and took what appeared to be a 20 minute drive from the Schipol airport where I landed. When I arrived at the hotel, the lobby was a scene from a movie! I was like a child lost in a candy store. I wasn't greeted by that old brick building with a tall thin man at the front desk, with an overgrown beard gargling saliva in his throat as he spoke Dutch. It was oh so different. I checked in and took the elevator up to the third floor, double bed room, literally, right in the middle of a long hall of other rooms on either side. As I entered I felt serene. The lighting was soft and that smell of sweet lavender and lilies snuck up my nose, soft white fluffy cotton pillows and a bed that was as therapeutic as the aura in the room and an AC unit just above it. I walked to my window and looked out into the evening, it was as hot and as bright as the midday sun despite it being 7:00pm. To my right on a bed side table was a coffee machine, coffee beans, coffee mugs and creamer. To my left in front of the bed, a smart TV at least 55 inches, a wide array of channels I have never even heart of nor understood because they were in Dutch. I walked to the bathroom and was greeted with the same fresh scent of flowers, clean white towels and wash cloth and a nice hot water shower with a screen door. Though I was jet lagged I decided to take a quick shower and head out to McDonald’s, another first, where a handsome young man offered to pay for my meal. We sat and ate together and he offered to show me around. With the week dwindling do, I met up with my new found friend to explore Giethoorn in Overijssel (still cannot pronounce it). Here I had another first, traveling in a punter on the pond. This was the epitome of a picturesque village, thatched roof farms along the ponds surrounded by the forest. After leaving my new retirement village, we visited the Red Light District where I was greeted by red light peering through windows indicating availability and some without; a modernized district, a sex worker's dream. The day went from tranquil to hot and sweaty to ending on a high on cloud nine with brownies, you know the kind, with that kush supposedly founded on King Solomon’s grave. Within an hour I was in bed, I had to be up to catch my flight the next afternoon. It was raining cats and dogs and the train to Belgium was leaving in 5 minutes so I Usain Bolt-ed it down to the platform. The ride was beautiful, graffiti walls, green fields with windmills and greenhouses. Netherlands, when will I see you again?