Today, I joined the Amsterdam biking masses. I found a nice guy named Pieter on Markplaats (the Dutch equivalent of Craigslist). We made a deal for 75E. And off I went a little wobbly at first down Jacob van Lennepkade (pronounced Ya-cub von Lennab-cod-ay). I dodged people, children, cars and trucks and have lived to tell about it. We’ll see about tomorrow. Behold the greatness that are my wheels of steel, my silver chariot, my model-T!

On a previous trip to the ‘Dam, I was introduced to Turkse Pizza (or Turkish Pizza). It’s like a flour tortilla that is covered with tomato sauce, onions, lamb (or Doner) and this melt-your-face-off spicy chile sauce. Then they roll it up and its most delicious. I’ve been craving it since I arrived, and today I was able to satisfy the rumbling.

I walked into the shop and pointed at the pizza and proclaimed “One, please!” with my finger raised in the air as back up communication and a big smile. Neither translated. Okay, plan B. Plan B was in the form of a small Turkish man sitting behind me who became the self-appointed “translator” between me and the guy behind the counter with my pizza. However, he couldn’t speak any English either. So this was quite entertaining for me, but was still no closer to my pizza. This is how the next minute and a half transpired.

“You, Engels?”
“No, American.”
“Ahhh….America!..George Bush! Texas!”
“Oh noooooooooo………..”

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