Moments after crossing the border from Netherlands into Germany, I commemorated the event by pouring a bottle of beer into my lap, down the front of my legs and into the front pocket of my backpack, all in one fell swoop.
My talent is limitless.
The pants I was wearing were brand new, purchased expressly for Europe. They were expected to last three days between washing, not four hours.
Fortunately, the pocket of my backpack held nothing important. Well, except my passport. And the strippenkaart for the Amsterdam trams. And our Eurail Pass. Richard now has those three aforementioned documents. As soon as I prove myself to be a mature, responsible adult, he'll give them back to me. Obviously, that ain't happening anytime soon.
So, the ride from Bad Bentheim to Hamburg was, shall we say, damp.
I was sad to leave Amsterdam, but we must move forward. We are now in Hamburg. Not much chance to explore so far, but tomorrow will be a new adventure.
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1 comment:
C'mon Mac. . .it wasn't the pants you cared about, it was the spilled beer.
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