âVegas, the European editionâ stuffâand it just adds to the weâre-not-in-Kansas-anymore feeling. Itâs all so exotic and I canât even process whether thatâs a good thing or a bad thing right now.
Itâs only about a fifteen-minute walk, but Iâm on fullsensory overload by the time I roll my suitcase past the penis statue and spy the blue awning of the Hotel Krasnapolsky.
I knew the bus tour would be first class all the way, but wow. The lobby looks like something out of a movie. I pass Elizabethâs passport over to the desk clerk, snatch the key she hands me, and stumble to my room. Itâs only eleven in the morning, but I feel like Iâve just spent a day chopping firewood (not that Iâve ever actually done this. But it looks tiring).
After five failed attempts to get the door unlocked, the little light finally clicks to green and I push it open, drop my bags on the floor, and flop face-first onto the bed.
And this is only the first morning.
I wake up several hours later, totally disoriented.
After a room service meal (a burger! Fries! Just like at home, despite the fact that they serve mayonnaise with the fries, instead of ketchup) and a soak in the ridiculously long bathtub (custom-fitted for the ridiculously giant Dutch people), Iâm feeling . . . I donât actually know what Iâm feeling. My internal body clock is so screwed up it seems like midnight even though itâs four p.m., and somehow being on the other side of the world is almost this physical sensation where I can just s ense every bit of the distance in my bones. Plus, I canât even wrap my head around the suckitude of not having my binder and phone. There may be canals and cobblestones and museums and streetcars out my window, but at the moment I just want my mom.
Or Elizabeth. Well, itâs not so much that I want her, because Iâm still incredibly pissed at her, but I do have to face facts and admit that I need her. Iâm counting on her having backups of her backups of all the material in my missing binder and overnighting them to me STAT.
I grab the card that has directions for placing international calls off the top of the phone and when I uncover the keypad beneath I see the message light blinking. No one else knows Iâm here, so it could only be Elizabeth, calling to tell me how sorry she is and how badly she underestimated me. I pick up the receiver and push the button. Immediately, Elizabethâs voice is in my ear.
âHey, Bree! If youâre listening to this, you must be in your hotel. I hope the flight went well. Listen, Iâm not a fan of the way things went down at the airport, but I understand that you were really nervous about the flight and the trip, so letâs not worry about it, okay? I just wanted to say congratulations on getting there and I hope youâre having an amazing time so far. Donât stress outâthis trip is going to be so good for you and will totally expand your horizons and all that. Youâll see! If you need anything, Iâll be standing by my cell phone, ready to help. Iâll even sleep with it, so call day or night. Talk to you soon! Bye!â
Um . . .
I play the message again. I guess someone could listen to it and think, Oh, sheâs being nice and supportive, but thatâs not what I hear. âCongratulations on getting thereâ sounds a little like âWow, I did not think you would get there in one pieceand that deserves major kudosâ and âIâll even sleep with itâ kind of sounds like âOdds are one million percent that youâre going to have an emergency, so Iâll just be here ready and waiting to bail your ass out.â
And what the actual hell with the whole âyou were nervous, so letâs not worry about itâ? Is she trying to say I didnât have the right to be angry with her or to storm off? What if I donât want to forget about
Itâs only about a fifteen-minute walk, but Iâm on fullsensory overload by the time I roll my suitcase past the penis statue and spy the blue awning of the Hotel Krasnapolsky.
I knew the bus tour would be first class all the way, but wow. The lobby looks like something out of a movie. I pass Elizabethâs passport over to the desk clerk, snatch the key she hands me, and stumble to my room. Itâs only eleven in the morning, but I feel like Iâve just spent a day chopping firewood (not that Iâve ever actually done this. But it looks tiring).
After five failed attempts to get the door unlocked, the little light finally clicks to green and I push it open, drop my bags on the floor, and flop face-first onto the bed.
And this is only the first morning.
I wake up several hours later, totally disoriented.
After a room service meal (a burger! Fries! Just like at home, despite the fact that they serve mayonnaise with the fries, instead of ketchup) and a soak in the ridiculously long bathtub (custom-fitted for the ridiculously giant Dutch people), Iâm feeling . . . I donât actually know what Iâm feeling. My internal body clock is so screwed up it seems like midnight even though itâs four p.m., and somehow being on the other side of the world is almost this physical sensation where I can just s ense every bit of the distance in my bones. Plus, I canât even wrap my head around the suckitude of not having my binder and phone. There may be canals and cobblestones and museums and streetcars out my window, but at the moment I just want my mom.
Or Elizabeth. Well, itâs not so much that I want her, because Iâm still incredibly pissed at her, but I do have to face facts and admit that I need her. Iâm counting on her having backups of her backups of all the material in my missing binder and overnighting them to me STAT.
I grab the card that has directions for placing international calls off the top of the phone and when I uncover the keypad beneath I see the message light blinking. No one else knows Iâm here, so it could only be Elizabeth, calling to tell me how sorry she is and how badly she underestimated me. I pick up the receiver and push the button. Immediately, Elizabethâs voice is in my ear.
âHey, Bree! If youâre listening to this, you must be in your hotel. I hope the flight went well. Listen, Iâm not a fan of the way things went down at the airport, but I understand that you were really nervous about the flight and the trip, so letâs not worry about it, okay? I just wanted to say congratulations on getting there and I hope youâre having an amazing time so far. Donât stress outâthis trip is going to be so good for you and will totally expand your horizons and all that. Youâll see! If you need anything, Iâll be standing by my cell phone, ready to help. Iâll even sleep with it, so call day or night. Talk to you soon! Bye!â
Um . . .
I play the message again. I guess someone could listen to it and think, Oh, sheâs being nice and supportive, but thatâs not what I hear. âCongratulations on getting thereâ sounds a little like âWow, I did not think you would get there in one pieceand that deserves major kudosâ and âIâll even sleep with itâ kind of sounds like âOdds are one million percent that youâre going to have an emergency, so Iâll just be here ready and waiting to bail your ass out.â
And what the actual hell with the whole âyou were nervous, so letâs not worry about itâ? Is she trying to say I didnât have the right to be angry with her or to storm off? What if I donât want to forget about
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