After spending the night with my newfound Dutch friend, Henk, I learned how perfect Ikea fits into the European home. Amsterdam is a beautiful and decadent city with sightseeing in the morning for the grey-hairs and enough sex toys and shops to make my mom blush. Not that it would take much.

Speaking of Momma Falgout, I met up with her, Uncle Bill and Aunt Bobby in Amsterdam and we were off to the Van Gogh museum, Anne Frank house, mini-boat tour and the always International, Hard Rock Cafe. They just finished an Old People’s Cruise seeing the blooming Tulips. Now before you wonder why you’d cross-country travel just to see flowers, trust me. Even I was impressed by these flowers. This coming from someone who won’t grow anything unless you can eat it.

We stayed in the Victoria Hotel, a former Gestapo HQ, and woke up at the butt-crack-early time of 6AM for our personalized tour by Sergio, one of my new favorite people. He entertained us as he took us around the Rembrandt gardens, one of the oldest windmills (1637), the Peace Palace, the Boobie Bridge, the Clogs and Cheese store, and a restaurant where we tasted raw herring. Tasty, but disgusting texture. He also tried picking up a few women for me, but I told him I had a girlfriend. He just smiled in way that could mean many different things in a country where prostitution is legal. And he did this, all the while sounding like a cross between Borat and Fernando from the Grand Theft Auto game.

As soon as we got back, I jumped on a night train to Copenhagen where I met up with some Vancouverites and a Sweed. Hopefully, the rocking back and forth of the train will give me a good nights sleep opposed to rolling off the top bunk.

I’m still feeling ill, but I refuse to let the sickness win…even though when I blow my nose, it looks like a leprechaun died inside me. I’ll get him all out. Maybe I just need to drink more.

April 22nd, 9:14AM, on the tail end of the Night Train to Copenhagen.