Must maintain the required safe temperature!

Ever stay in a hotel where you feel like they really don't trust you? Below is a tidbit from a recent Holiday Inn stay in the UK. I had purchased a yogurt from the supermarket (breakfast at the hotel was about $25, no thanks) and went to open the mini bar to keep it cool overnight. It was locked, and this is the sign that greeted me (click on the photo to enlarge):


My favorite part? "This bar is for the sole use of mini bar products and under no circumstance should it be used to store food or any other products because the bar will not maintain the required safe temperature."

What was in the bar? Soda, liquor and potato chips.

Can you imagine the damage that my yogurt would have caused? Sheesh.

La Place

Today I’m a reluctant café blogger. I’m finally on a working streak and to uproot organization and exit my warm, cozy home seems counterproductive. But I’m committed to living the motto that variety can only stimulate creativity. I hope I’m right.

I’m in La Place, one of the many in Leiden and one of the (no doubt) thousands of La Place sites in the Netherlands. It’s a buffet-style eatery, but much more upscale than anything I grew up referring to as a buffet. As a Midwestern girl, I think “Old Country” in front of “Buffet” and picture obese couples piling mashed potatoes and dinner rolls onto their plates. Here, though, freshly blended fruit juices, sautéed vegetables, made-to-order pizzas and pasta dishes abound. And this is one of the less-amply stocked locations.

And unlike my rather laid-back experience last week, this place is humming with activity. There are about 50 lunch stragglers hanging out in the vicinity. No one looks particularly hurried to battle the gray, windy day, and the hum of their conversation increases as they contemplate another coffee. The La Place staff seems busy cleaning up from the earlier rush, with glasses and plates crashing together at regular intervals from behind the scenes. A pop music station plays in the background and is only interrupted by the occasional “don’t miss this great deal” announcement from the department store below.

There are a few other solitary visitors. One is a male about my age with a large book spread out before him. But he’s not making much of an effort to read it. Instead, he alternates gazing around the room with playing with his mobile phone. Occasionally he acknowledges the book and his jaw sets in a frustrated, agitated manner. He scans for a moment before sighing and staring again off into the distance, perhaps contemplating the very mystery that haunts my days: Why can’t I concentrate?!?

The birthday weekend

Back from Paris.

Mona Lisa? Check.

Climbing to the top of the Eiffel Tower? Check.

Soaking in the essence of Notre Dame with the Christmas tree still on display? Check.

Stuffing myself with croissants? Check.

Observing the culture, fashion, language, and hum of Paris?

Feeling very content about turning 30? Check.

Café blogging

In an effort to maintain my sanity in this last year of dissertation writing, I am taking a few hours a week to write…for fun. That means forcibly removing myself from my home office, finding an inviting Leiden café within walking distance, enjoying a store-bought latte or Chai and writing about whatever I observe.

The introductory session took place today at Bagels & Beans on the Haarlemmerstraat, a surprisingly cheerful find on a street afflicted with frumpy chain stores. I’ve been here a number of times, and I’m gambling on its affinity to creativity. My only fear is that a patron may light up. Smoking will be banned in the Netherlands only in July 2008, and that day can’t come fast enough.

My luck has held out so far. I’m enjoying a spicy organic Chai with a tad too much cinnamon and eyeing the whole-wheat (100% bio!) bagel with Parma ham, rucola & pine nuts. I snagged a place next to the window, overlooking the shopping street. One of those eerily similar dog/owner combos just went by: A sheepdog barely able to see through its long, stringy grey hair, led tentatively by a man with a similar hairdo and lanky gait. Screaming children with helmet and bike meander by and are ignored by teenagers aggressive in their truancy. The rest of the walkers are a mixture of anonymous adults. Are they unemployed? Shift workers? On lunch break? Graduate students shirking their scholarly duties, just like me?

Mustn’t think like that. After all, My Advisor encouraged these breaks. His approval is as good as law. What’s this? The man across from me reaches in his pocket. My heart stops – no! Cigarettes! But it’s only his mobile phone. As my breathing returns to normal the waitress piles another spoonful of chocolate coffee beans onto an already overflowing saucer full of sugar cubes. It’s quiet without the coffee machines grinding, and strains of Vivaldi float overhead, soothing my spirit. This place seems like a pseudo office, as patrons have out a book, a scrap of paper or a notepad in front of them. Feels just about right.

Pee emergency

It was an evening full of promise. The sun had set long before and we were on our way back to Leiden after a quick Amsterdam jaunt. Traffic was heavy but predictable, and we both had high hopes of making it back in time to visit a furniture store before its closing time.

Then something strange happened. GPS told us that the A4 motorway was closed. Closed? I muttered my confusion and then watched the brake lights illuminate the dark pavement ahead. Soon, all five lanes were stopped. Damn. Must be an accident. Should be cleared up soon, we agreed. We'd be on our way by six at the latest. I proceeded to pass the time with some paperwork while Mr. Q alternated between turning the engine off, playing with his iPod, and napping.

Soon (well, after an hour or so) it became clear that we weren't making the furniture run. 7:15 became 7:30, then 8pm approached. Turns out they had shut down all lanes of traffic and didn't seem to have an alternative plan for the stranded. I had long finished any form of diversion and then the inevitable happened: My bladder began to complain.

Irritated, I tried to ignore the curse of liquid consumption, but it persisted. Must have been that latte at the Villa ArenA a few hours ago. I reclined in my seat and conjured up relaxed images and attempted yoga breathing, but to no avail. I was getting desperate.

It was after eight. Being in the far left lane, we began to assess the possibilities of getting out of the car and using the guardrail as a shield against 10,000 Dutchmen laughing as they watched me do my business. No, thank you. No bottles were in sight, and the only plastic bags were too flimsy to risk it - neither of us was keen on having the car tarnished forever because of one crazy moment.

I finally hit complete and total desperation. Mr. Q. gallantly swerved across five lanes of stopped traffic, drove onto the emergency lane and came to rest near a multitude of other parked cars. Anarchy had begun, and as far as the eye could see men were relieving themselves along the motorway. Determined to represent my gender, I jumped from the car and crossed a small fence before finding relative solitude from the waiting motorists. My moment of relief had come.

I've counted roses, breathless kisses and getaways among my most romantic experiences, but what truly takes the cake was having Mr. Q. wrap my coat firmly around my face to prevent identification and stand stoically by as I did my duty.

Adulthood

What is adulthood? Is it turning 18 and realizing the privileges and responsibilities that come with being of legal age? On my 18th birthday I celebrated by purchasing cigarettes and a lottery ticket. I didn't behave any differently, other than in my confidence to pursue certain vices.

Is it living on your own? Since leaving my parent's warm and cozy home, I've counted eight apartments as a residence. I've learned how to cook, pay rent, and apply the appropriate level of charm and determination in facilitating repairs.

Is it getting a full-time job? Traveling alone to a foreign country? Trading vodka and beer binge nights for wine with dinner? Growing out your fingernails? Getting married? Having children? Becoming more moderate in certain views? Being more concerned with financial, emotional, and mental stability than the yearnings of the id?

It's less than a week until my 30th birthday. I have accomplished a majority of the potential signposts above...but am I an adult? I have decided that adulthood is not about meeting a checklist of concrete expectations, but is more about an evolution in one's attitudes and behavior. I am honestly thrilled to leave my 20's behind, even though the past year I have been challenged in how to express these changes, particularly on this blog.

If I have a resolution this year, it is to learn how to document this new decade of experiences, to silence (or at least lower the volume) of my mid-20s persona that sometimes screams "sellout!" and to celebrate personal evolution and the new insights it brings. I can tentatively say I'm back as a blogger, because I want to believe that BlondebutBright can live on into the next decade.

Now let's see if I can remember the blogger password...