Niki ordered a double scotch the minute we boarded, had wine with dinner and then a lurid green liqueur that smelled like mouthwash before promptly getting sick and spending the rest of the flight groaning. That’s ok though because I was well supplied with maps and guidebooks and wasn’t in desperate need of conversation. After dinner I saw the sun rise over Greenland. Such a calm, startling sunrise. Poetic. Niki was asleep at this point and I didn’t want to wake her. She doesn’t seem to get as worked up over sunrises as I do.
Amsterdam‘s slender buildings are lovely, with decorative plaster to differentiate rooflines. Canals cut across cobbled streets and there are bicycles everywhere. Not an easy place to get to know; each street looks a lot like the last and I had to pay attention, but after a couple of false starts we found the hostel. Niki wanted to see the red light district, but I made her promise first to see the Rijksmuseum tomorrow. There might be a few clashes on this trip. Niki has made no secret of the fact that she is here to meet guys – she wants to have sex in every country we visit. Nice to see she has ambition.
I am here to fill every crevice of my mind and soul. I want to know the history, the geography, the art, the literature, the language, the mannerisms of everywhere. I want to inhale the air of Europe and hold it in my lungs. I want to see it, devour it, satiate my hunger to know everything about everything. Niki says I should cool it and slow down, Europe will always be here and I say yes but I won’t be, I’ve already spent 18 years on this earth and have seen only a tiny portion of it. At my age, Marco Polo had already started out on his voyages and writing his narrative, probably the most influential European historical document from the first half of this millennium. He almost singlehandedly launched the Age of Discovery and all its consequences. I haven’t even had sex yet. Niki says some people are never satisfied. I say she’s right. But I know we are talking about different things.
The red light district was more interesting than I thought it would be. Women were sitting or standing or dancing behind large windows in their living rooms, wearing bored expressions and not much else. “Ye gods!” breathed Niki, rolling her eyes in that way of hers. Everything is always a bit of a drama with Niki. I wonder what it’s like for the women in the windows – do they shut down their brains and go through the motions or are they aware of everyone that passes by? How irksome it must be to be stared at by teenaged tourists like us, but it doesn’t seem to faze them. I guess they must be used to it. One of them even waved to us and gave us a thumbs up sign when she saw the Canadian pins on our jackets.
Despite jet lag we are trying to keep awake as long as possible and get used to local time. At about 4pm we went into a brown bar full of pale students all smoking hand rolled cigarettes and marijuana, drinking beers and talking earnestly while Abba songs played at full blast. I wish we could be part of such a group. We drank shots of genever, a kind of raw gin that scraped about six layers of skin off my throat, and breathed in second-hand smoke.
Even though we have different aims, I’m glad to be doing this trip with Niki. Ever since we met two years ago, I have envied her confidence. She does so effortlessly what I find painful to even contemplate. I know I hide my feelings with layers of protection, and am told I look like I don’t care, don‘t notice, but really I’m dying a thousand deaths every time the attention comes on me. Mom once called me cold and that hurt so much. She usually disapproves of my more adventurous friends but she likes Niki for some reason. Niki sure does know how to turn on the charm in front of adults, but I know she is really a rebel.
I don’t have the courage to rebel. And what would I rebel against? It's not like I was ever mistreated or beaten so I’d have some angst to write about, but of course I could never say anything like that out loud to anyone because it’s sounds so awful and they just wouldn’t understand. And I don’t really want to be beaten. I just wish I had something in my past to make me more interesting, a more tragic heroine. Instead of being a skinny spotty teenager, which is completely unromantic.
I hate the way I am sometimes. For one thing, I can't speak up for myself. Every time I try it comes out wrong. Mom wanted me to borrow her suitcase and her clothes for this trip – I mean, “Ye gods” as Niki would say - her clothes! They are not at all appropriate and they reek of cigarette smoke. I secretly wondered if it’s so she can worm her way into my room and try to get all chummy with me. She’d never dream of trying to lend her clothes to Sidney or Sam. Why does she always try it on with me? I tried to be gentle.
“I would hate to ruin them you know, and Europe is probably pretty dirty. We’ll be on trains and stuff. London was filthy I remember.”
“You don’t like them. Don’t lie to me. You don’t like my taste in clothes.”
“No, it’s not that. They are nice clothes.”
“This silver blouse will be lovely with the navy skirt and the plaid. Try it on. Let’s see how it looks.”
I took a breath. I want to take a backpack, not a suitcase. And a silver blouse and plaid skirt! I mean really. “Mom that outfit is so 1974. And it’s a little grown up for me. I think we will be spending most of our time in student places and these will look – um – a little too – good. You know. Why can’t I choose my own things?”
“Well, let’s see what you’ve got,” she said in that wry way she has just before she makes me feel like an idiot. “You have four old pairs of jeans and two swimsuits. No sweater, no skirt, no dress.”
“Mom. I haven’t finished yet. At least don’t rag on my choices until I’ve finished packing them.” A lame ending I know, especially as there was nothing else on my bed ready to go into my pack. I have a tough time making decisions.
“Right, I suppose you know best. You’ve always known best. I try to take an interest in the things you like to do, try to break into that shell of yours but everytime I do I get rebuffed. I thought you’d want to perhaps take a piece of me with you on this trip to remind you of me. Like part of me can be with you, watch over you. Did you never think that I never got the chance to go to Europe at your age? That I would have loved to? At least I can help you experience things I never could. Well, you’re young and headstrong and the only way to learn is to make mistakes rather than listen to the advice of others who know better.” Does she really know better, I wondered? How would she know what a student should pack for Europe? “I’m sure whatever you want to take will be stunning and turn the crowned heads of Europe in your direction.”
“Mom! I don’t want that.” Honesty started to creep in. “Listen, I just don’t want to look, um, geeky. I’m still young. I’d rather die than wear old lady clothes.”
Oops, wrong word to use. ‘Lady’ was fine. But ‘old’ was not so good. She looked at me with flashes in her eyes.
“You’d rather die? Well, I like that. You’d rather die than wear something I chose and paid for with my own hard earned money and that I wear proudly. No thank you. Wear your own things then. Stuffed into a grubby sack that makes you look like a pack mule. Just promise me one thing – one thing.”
“What is it?”
“You can’t make a promise without having to know what it is? I am only asking for one thing, one small promise.”
“Okay, okay, I promise.”
“Do not show me any degrading photos of you wearing ragamuffin attire in European capitals. It would be too distressing and I’d be ashamed of you.”
Huge relief. That was a promise I readily accepted. Besides, I have a feeling that travelling with Niki might produce photos I won’t want anyone to see. Secretly I hope so. I’m pathetic. When she left the room, I sat on my bed, feeling horrible. Yet another moment with Mom turned into a confrontation.
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