Besides to think that Dutch was merely German’s clog wearing cousin would lead to some serious conversational faux pas. I could only get about three pages in on a flight from Los Angeles to Copenhagen; yet, somehow I was going to learn Dutch by osmosis. It was wishful thinking at best.

Amsterdam is beginning to open up like a flower when it’s caressed by the sun.  As I’m trekking, the city is coming alive before my eyes.  Shopkeepers greet each other in languages that are not Dutch, Vespas try to keep up with traffic, the tram, THE TRAM, suitcase wheels shaking their maracas, and me internally letting out a primal scream.