The San Remo's Cat

Apparently, February is "Cat Appreciation Month," a fact of which I was completely unaware until I saw it on-line yesterday. (And if it's on the internet, you know it must be true.) I find it utterly amazing that mothers and fathers have been allotted only one day a year to be appreciated, but an entire MONTH has been dedicated to CATS! However, in the spirit of February's feline focus, I decided to use today's post to tell you about an interesting cat that my husband and I met in Amsterdam back on January 21.

We capped off a whirlwind day of sightseeing that Sunday (touring the canals and the Anne Frank House) by going out to dinner at a charming little Italian restaurant called San Remo's. We were escorted to our romantic little table-for-two by the window; and as we were getting settled, we realized that there was a cat on the windowsill, lying there warming himself behind the neon "Open" sign. Okay, first of all, have you ever seen a cat hanging out in a restaurant in this country? And secondly, if you did see one, wouldn't you expect the proprietors to shoo it off the premises? It's different in Europe, I guess. This cat was obviously a pet of the owners or something--and he obviously had no intention of leaving his cozy perch on the windowsill. He looked pretty comfortable there, as if sitting and watching diners eat was something he did every night of his life.

I have to say that this cat was very polite: he didn't jump on our laps, or up onto the table; he didn't try to get at our food or pester us for a hand-out, the way any dog would undoubtedly do. But he did spend much of the time we were eating just sitting near the table, quietly staring at us. You know, in that cold, calculating, cat-like way--which is so different from the way a big, slobbery dog stares at you, with his eyes full of unconditional love and devotion. This cat's eyes looked anything but love-filled; I tell you, if looks could kill, we'd have been dead. I kept thinking, "Shouldn't someone make this cat go away and leave us alone?" And yet at the same time, my husband and I both found the whole situation quite amusing.

Although the San Remo's cat grew on me after awhile (I mean, he really was kind of cute, and he didn't bother us at all during our meal), I didn't want to pay too much attention to him while we were eating, because I was afraid he'd get too friendly with us. I needn't have worried about that, as you'll see. As we were putting on our coats and getting ready to leave, I leaned down to pet him. He didn't purr contentedly and become my best buddy for life--no, far from it; in fact, he wouldn't let me pet him at all. That cat's claws came out and he hissed at me! Message received, spawn of Satan!

That, to me, is typical cat behavior (whether here or abroad). It gave me flashbacks to a terrifying incident in the 70's, when I was stalked and attacked by our family pet, a psychotic black cat named Harvey. (And that's why I'll always be a dog person!) But I'm supposed to spend the whole month of February appreciating cats? Sorry, but I don't think that's going to happen.

A City Filled with Bikes and Boats

Amsterdam is a very interesting city, full of cobblestone streets and lovely old buildings with--what appears to be the norm in Europe, from my limited experience--absolutely stunning architectural details. It was not like anything I'd seen before. The houses along the canals are tall and narrow, attached to one another the way the brownstones are in NYC and Boston. What's unique about them, though, is that their facades actually lean forward a bit, and they have big hooks located at the top near their gabled roofs. These hooks, with the help of ropes and pulleys, are for hoisting furniture and other heavy items into the homes. Because the buildings are so tall and narrow, so are their staircases, and without the hoisting hooks it would be impossible to move things in or out. Bikes are obviously a major mode of transportation in Amsterdam. Everywhere we went, we saw bikes, bikes, and more bikes. At the beginning of the canal tour we took on Saturday, while we were still out in the large harbor, the tour guide pointed out a mulit-level parking gargage near the water's edge. It had space to hold about 2,000 vehicles; but it wasn't for cars--it was for bicycles! And it was pretty full, too.

Not surprisingly, as the city is built on water (its landscape is composed of dams, dikes, bridges, and canals), there are also lots and lots of boats, including houseboats that are moored along the canals like cars parked up to the curb.I never gave much thought to Amsterdam before our recent trip; and although my husband had been there numerous times for work, I never cared one way or the other about seeing it (just like I never cared about seeing Nice, silly me!). Although I would have lived a perfectly full and happy life had I never visited this beautiful and historical Dutch city, I'm so glad that I had the opportunity to do so. I truly did enjoy my short stay in Amsterdam, a city filled with bikes and boats.

Chubby and Jet-Lagged, with My Nose in a Book

Well, I'm being a lazybones today, which explains why I'm blogging about three hours later than usual. I guess I'm still recovering from my trip to Amsterdam. I don't know how my husband handles his schedule, because one trip wipes me out. And he's due to take off for a three-day trip to Dublin tomorrow!

We already looked to see if there were enough seats for me to go along, since I'm now a seasoned world traveler (ha ha!) and Ireland is definitely one country I've always been interested in visiting. But the plane is too full, so I'm staying behind for this one. That's probably for the best anyway. If I keep going to work with my husband, I'm not only going to be bone-tired all the time, but I'm going to be as fat as a stuffed goose, too. I gained four pounds on the Amsterdam trip, mostly from eating the awesome business class cuisine. I have trouble saying no to anything that's offered--one, because it's free; and two, because eating keeps me happily occupied during the flight, which helps me to forget where I am. I never eat five-course meals at home, but I sure do on flights (warmed mixed nuts to start, followed by an appetizer and soup, then salad, the main course, and dessert!), and then I eat the second meal they bring around about an hour before landing, too--even though I'm rarely even hungry after the first enormous meal. I love accompanying my husband to work, but it's turning me into a glutton. So I've made a resolution for the next time: no overeating on the airplane! No matter how good it all looks, I need to say no every now and then! (But I think I'll still accept those pre-flight, nerve-calming glasses of champagne--for medicinal purposes only!)

Inspired by our trip to the Anne Frank House on Saturday, I've been devouring The Diary of a Young Girl. I can't seem to put it down. I still can't believe that we got to go inside the building in which Anne wrote her diary; we saw her actual diary, with its red plaid cover, under a glass case--as well as many other loose pages filled with her handwriting; we walked past the bookcase that hid the entrance to the "Secret Annexe" and through the rooms that were occupied by Anne's family and four others. That visit to 263 Prinsengracht in Amsterdam was a tremendously moving experience, and it makes the words I'm reading now truly come to life for me. I definitely want to write more about that tour of the Anne Frank House, but it's going to require more energy than I have at the moment and I want to do the subject justice. So for now, I'm posting two pictures that I took on our canal tour through the city.Isn't Amsterdam beautiful? I have lots more pictures, and you'll probably be seeing some of those in the coming days.

Flying High

Last night, we returned from our three-day trip to Amsterdam. It was wonderful, and I took lots of pictures with my trusty iPhone. (As I'm married to the iMan, it's about time I become the iWoman, I guess.) We took a boat cruise along the canals of the city, and--despite the overcast skies--that was lovely. We also toured the Anne Frank House, which was a very moving experience. I need to devote a whole post to that alone, which I plan to do later in the week.

I find that I'm on a bit of a high this morning, shaking my head in wonder at the fact that I have now been fortunate enough to visit two beautiful European cities with my husband. (And also marveling at the fact that I got business class both ways, on both trips--and now I am admittedly spoiled rotten!) I have some great pictures to share, but first I have to figure out how to transfer them from my iPhone to my computer so that I can post them on this blog. I experimented with this photo, one of me sitting in the cockpit shortly before we took off in Amsterdam yesterday morning. It took me three tries to figure out how to transfer it, so I'm going to wait until my hubby wakes up to transfer the rest. I'm quite sure there's a quicker and easier method than the one I used! Anyway, here's me in my husband's claustrophobia-inducing "office." There are so many buttons, screens, lights, switches, and gauges up there; it's absolutely mind-boggling to me that anyone could keep track of it all. I've always been in awe of--and terrified of--the miracle of human flight; sitting in that cockpit had the effect of making me even more awestruck, but also less afraid. Those guys who sit up there and man those controls are a rare breed, and they know what they're doing. (But sitting in my husband's seat made me appreciate my roomy, comfy, reclining business class seat even more, and as soon as this picture was snapped, I was anxious to get back to it!)

One of the big things I took away from my recent trips to Nice and Amsterdam with my husband is that, although most people think the life of an airline pilot (particularly a pilot who flies almost exclusively to European destinations) is a very glamorous one, his job is extremely tough. It's an exhausting routine. For my husband, it starts with a drive to Logan Airport in Boston and a commuter flight from there to Laguardia in NYC, followed by a cab ride over to JFK. Then there's the long flight (sitting in a cramped cockpit) across the Atlantic, and upon arrival in Europe, the crew shuttle bus ride to the layover hotel. There's a short respite during the layover, with time to do a bit of sightseeing if you're so inclined and to have a decent meal out; but the bottom line is that while you might be in an exotic locale that makes others envy you, the whole time you're there you're sleeping in a strange bed and living out of a suitcase, and you're carefully planning your sleep schedule to avoid jet lag so you're ready for the return flight (and in his case, you're also really missing home). And often, my husband returns from a trip in the evening, has one home-cooked dinner, sleeps in his own bed for one night, and the next day he's right back at it: driving to Logan, flying to Laguardia, taking a cab from Laguardia to JFK, flying across the Atlantic...

Whenever I've had to see a doctor, especially when it involved surgical procedures, I've felt so grateful. How fortunate we all are that there are people in the world who are willing to practice medicine, because I can't even imagine doing the things that doctors do. I feel the same way about pilots. People want to go places, and they want to get where they're going as fast as possible. It's hard to imagine life in our modern world without airline travel--even a landlubber like myself depends on it, with my children spread out so far these days. Thank God that there are people who are willing to do what pilots do--people like my husband. I've always appreciated him and the hard work he does (not only for our family, but for the countless passengers who've flown with him), but accompanying him to work made me appreciate him even more.

Amsterdam, Here I Come

One of my husband's sisters called me yesterday at about noon, and her timing was perfect. I'm so glad I got to talk to her right before my trip today. When she found out that I might be accompanying her brother on a three-day trip to Amsterdam, she asked me what we planned to do while we were there. I told her that we would only have one day to dedicate to sightseeing (because the other two would be dedicated to the long, long flights--gulp--there and back), and the only thing I knew for sure was that I wasn't all that interested in visiting the Van Gogh museum. Since it isn't tulip season yet, I didn't really know what else Amsterdam had to offer--besides its notorious red light district (and hopefully, some dikes and old-fashioned looking windmills!). My sister-in-law was a teacher at a US Department of Defense school in Germany when she was a young twenty-something (in fact, while she was over there, she met her husband, and they are now the proud parents of five--including triplets!), and she was able to do a lot of traveling throughout Europe. She said that she'd been to the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam, and she highly recommended that we go to see it.

I had completely forgotten that Anne Frank spent the last few years of her life living in the Netherlands, where her family moved to escape the Nazi persecution of the Jews in Germany. This hadn't even registered with me until my sister-in-law mentioned that the house in Amsterdam in which Anne wrote her diary is open to the public as a museum. I am so excited now for this trip! I read The Diary of a Young Girl when I was a young girl myself, and was so fascinated and moved by it that I've re-read it several times since. I can't even imagine walking through the actual building where Anne and her family hid from the Nazis for over two years, the "Secret Annexe" that was both a safe haven and a prison for a young girl who had so much of her life ahead of her--a girl with a remarkable talent for writing who dreamed of one day becoming a journalist and a famous author.

During the years of hiding in the annexe, Anne not only faithfully kept her famous diary; she wrote many short stories as well. She also had a notebook in which she copied down "beautiful sentences" written by other authors whose books she'd read. I'm actually thinking of doing this now--what a great idea! I am so often blown away by the particular phrasing of certain sentences in books, by the way they perfectly express an emotion or describe a situation, and I like to go back and read them again. Collecting them in my own little "book of beautiful sentences" would make this so much easier.

I have no doubt that had Anne Frank survived the war, the publishing of her diary would have launched a long, stellar literary career. I also believe that if she lived in this day and age, she would have a blog (and she'd have countless loyal followers, surely). Because what is blogging anyway, if not a means of jotting down one's thoughts, interests, observations, and dreams? Blogging is a daily writing exercise, like keeping a diary or a journal. And just reading what flowed from her pen when she was but a girl on the verge of becoming a woman, I can only imagine the impact Anne Frank's adult musings might have had on the world.

While we're in Amsterdam, I hope to give my rusty French another try (it's either that or
Dutch, I guess, and I'm not too fluent in Dutch). I'll take lots of pictures with my iPhone, so look for those on Monday.