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Postcard: Amsterdam

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Nov. 26th, 2011 | 08:49 am

AMS. Schipol. An airport full of Rembrandts (literally—not only posters, but an outpost of the Rijksmuseum for great art on long layovers); the comfortable way station nearly every trip, stepping off the plane and knowing, this way. The Dutch striding confidently, even the women a head taller than everyone else. Tulip bulbs in the Duty-Free. Best of all, Dutch breakfast, slices of meat and cheese, yogurt with fruit, rolls with butter and chocolate sprinkles.
Off a plane filled with Indians connecting to Mumbai like my steward—I’ll be there in three weeks, but first Cape Town and nervousness. It’s strange to feel it when I travel so much, when I think, where was I last week? and it takes a moment to remember, Switzerland, or Reykjavik, or Texas. When I wake up in the night and I don’t know where the bathroom is.
This time…will it be like a movie? Will he pick me off my feet and swing me around by the baggage arrival? Will there be flowers in his hand, or lining the road to Strand? Or shall we greet a little stiffly, still playing it cool ((he said, “my love” on Facebook and my heart leapt in the airport lounge) still trying to be the one that has the power, the one that loves the least.

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