Keflavik to Maastricht

It was a long night of loud fireworks, so it was a short night of sleep.  We were at the airport with most of the rest of the tourist population at 6:15 in the morning.  It feels like everyone arrives and leaves in the early morning, but that's just because that's what we did.  The security line was packed.  Of note:  their TSA system is slicker than ours.  The plastic trays are returned to the front of the line without someone having to move them all in a big stack -- they just get delivered to a slot right where you need it. And when your tray is rejected (which four of ours were), there is an automatic arm that pushes your tray to another parallel track so the TSA folks can cheerfully take everything apart.  It felt non-stressful and efficient.  They didn't seem to be letting anything get past them.

The flight was uneventful except that I had one moment of worry that I had finally been struck down by the stomach virus that ravaged Anna's household the day before we left. Recent reports were that there were five patients throwing up in that house, with only Gordon (the post-op patient) spared, and he was diligently caring for all of them.  I woke up from a nap on the plane feeling terrible, couldn't find the throw-up bag anywhere, dragged myself up the aisle to the back of the plane, but gradually the feeling passed and I escaped the drama.  For the rest of the day, I was leery of eating much, but nothing bad happened.

We followed Rebecca's detailed instructions and found the bus stop.  The bus would make many stops on the way to Frankfort but we got off in Maastricht, the first stop just 90 minutes east.  It was rainy and dark and we were on a super highway so there wasn't much to look at. More napping.

Our cheerful daughter met us at the train station, bouncing down the steps as we stood admiring the giant rack of bicycles. 

She loves this city -- it is small enough for her to feel comfortable, public transportation is smooth and smart, the city is historic and well-maintained, every view is pleasing.  We could have walked the 20 minutes to her house but we took a bus. The whole city is festooned with Christmas lights, tasteful not tacky. We just missed the Christmas market by a day.  Rebecca has gained an appreciation for Christmas markets all over Europe -- she loves the lights, the feeling, the street food, looking at the stuff.  She would prefer smaller crowds so they don't slow down her walking, but the crowds are part of the fun.

Rebecca's apartment is a 10 minute walk from her school, a 10 minute walk from the market square, a 10 minute walk from most of what she needs, it seems.  She lives above a Domino's take-out store, by herself, in a very cute and well-furnished studio. The view out her front window is a big church on the far side of the circle, lit up night and day.  Our Airbnb is about a 5 minute walk from her house.

We looked for some place that was open on New Years for dinner. Rebecca warned us that Dutch food is not very good.  They eat meat and potatoes, not much in the way of vegetables. We ended up at a bar with loud American music (that we recognized, so it was not current day music) and had some soup and a shared plate of meat and potatoes.  Yep, not very good. But the venue was local and home-y and the experience was worth it. They don't serve water here unless you buy something else to drink, which is an affront to our American expectations.

Becca and Jon finishing a particularly clever Times Sunday crossword puzzle while waiting for the meat and potatoes.

We walked through the empty market square, it was raining, we caught the bus back home. Becca and Jon went in search of an open store and I went home.  No open stores. Oh well. We had tea and yummy McVitie's from our Iceland stash.  By 10:30 we couldn't keep our eyes open anymore after two nights of not much sleep.

We have arrived.