Weekend visit to Cyprus!

I had a great visit with my sister and her family in Cyprus last weekend! It's funny how when you're used to being 15 hours away a 4.5 hours flight seems like nothing.

Cyprus Air is an interesting experience. There's not a million flights a day going to Cyprus from anywhere so efficiency isn't exactly the name of the game here. I got the feeling that having paper tickets is an exciting and recent upgrade from the previous "two stones and a beetle" transactions a la Flintstones. While you can reserve your ticket online, they don't actually have online ticketing yet. So actually acquiring your ticket at the airport involves a series of complicated and intricate negotiations with a variety of ticket agents - at opposite ends of the airport - whose main goal is to avoid making eye contact with you so they can pretend you're not standing there.

I found it interesting how many people were heading INTO Cyprus on Friday given the recent developments in Beirut, however the flight was packed. Claire picked me up at the airport and I was SO excited to see her again. It had only been 3 months since I was living in Cyprus for 7 weeks so it seemed strange, but familiar to be back. The weather was outstanding - not the oppressive 100 degree heat I was expecting from the reports but at night really gorgeous. Warm, nice breeze, dry. All good.

Saturday I woke up to a chorus of "AUNT KATE!" and finally saw my sweeties - 2.5 year old niece Sophie and 5 month old nephew Max. Unbelievable how they make your heart melt. We all went to Konos beach about an hour away. It's a beautiful beach that is the picture of what you think when you envision Greece. (I will upload pictures as soon as I get a plug converter for my camera!!) Clear blue water, rock cliffs and a silver half mooon strip of sand. Sophie and I had a lot of fun paddling around in the water and throwing rocks into the sea and I took Max into the water for the first time and he looked mildly interested. He's ADORABLE! Such a cute little man.

Saturday night we found a novelty in Cyprus - a GOOD restaurant. It was a place that specialized in Argentinean beef (a bit suspicious given the geographic positioning of the two countries and the frequency of flights...hmmm.) But it was realllly tasty. Not sure if it was my lack of having had beef in the past 6 months or not but it was excellent. We then had drinks in the old city at a gorgeous outdoor cafe - really nice. Sunday we had another gorgeous day and a fun BBQ at Claire and Laurent's place then it was time for me to leave on Monday. WAY too short, but nice to know I can pop down for a visit.

Getting out on Monday was again an interesting experience. Cyprus is what most would categorize as a sleepy little place. Everything moves a bit slower so I was wondering exactly how the Western countries were planning on moving 15,000 evacuees from Beirut through its airports. The Larnaca airport consists of generally one giant room to check in (and get your tickets in order to check in) and another room for passport control.

Passport control in Cyprus on a normal day takes approximately 45 minutes for 3 people to go through the line as the man inside the booth stares endlessly at your papers as though something will jump out at him if he looks long enough. I try this method repeatedly with my fridge staring at great length thinking something good will magically appear from behind the milk. Here's a tip - nothing appears...EVER. Fridge - 4,786, Kate - zero. I digress...

There are two lots of lines in passport control - EU, and All Other Passports - each staffed by one person who are usually on their coffee break. This monday however, I was sure it would be different to handle the flood of people that had arrived at the airport to vacate the middle east. Silly me. Silly silly me. I entered the Passport control room and felt like I'd walked into a bazaar in Marrakesh - chaos ruled with people everywhere waiving papers, children and giant salamis in the air. The men in the booths stared wide-eyed at the growing mob, stamps poised. A saving grace...a paper sign at the end of the row "US Citizens" Yahoo!!! That's Me! I ran over and got through in a relatively timely manner. A minute of reality here - it's a really strange sight to see people trying to get home and having trouble getting out. Fleeing is not something I've ever had to do and hope I never do. There's a desperation level that is heartbreaking.

But I wonder, as ships, helicopters and cruisers empty thousands into Cyprus to head to their home countries how on earth will this airport handle the volume? My advice...bring crackers and make friends with the people holding the salami - you're going to be there a while.

But, where do the shoes go?

I moved into temporary apartment until I get to know Amsterdam a bit better so I can decide where I want to live based on some level of experience rather than my existing “eeny, meeny, miney, mo” strategy. The apartment is in a great part of town – right in the city center on one of the main canals. I was a bit apprehensive of what to expect knowing that many things are different in Europe. For example I’ve learned that apparently screens in windows haven’t yet made it to Amsterdam. Nevermind that we live in a city of canals breeding mosquitos the size of my feet, screens just aren’t done. Many opt to get a mosquito net for their bed, but knowing myself well I’m more likely to end up entangled in the middle of the night like some sort of giant fly trapped as the main course in a mosquito feast.

I walked into my apartment and was really pleased. It has lots of light, open space, two bedrooms and seemingly all the things I needed. Sure it has man furniture, but hey, it’s just for 6 months. I got to the bedroom and all was fine until I realized that I was looking at the closet. The ONLY closet. I flashed back to the Sex and the City episode of Carrie looking for apartments in NYC and I could not have identified more at that moment…”That’s a closet?...but, where do the shoes go?!” I stood there with a ridiculous look of bewilderment on my face for a while – “Seriously, I’m not kidding where do the shoes go!?”

I thought I’d done a good job of weeding out my shoes coming to Amsterdam but hey, I’m a girl and I like shoes. I like high heels and I refuse to give them up! So to answer my own question…”The shoes go in the cabinet in my office.” Some people have files, I have shoes. Hey, it’s all about choices!

Het is niet mogelijk

Translation... It's not possible.

I've learned to recognize this phrase as I've found it's one of the most commonly used sentences in the Dutch language. Here are some of my most recent encounters with it:

Me: I have an account at this bank, but I haven't received my card yet so I can't take out any money. Has one been sent?
Bank: I don't know [blank stare]
Me: uhh, can you check?
Bank: Het is niet mogelijk

Me: I'd like to get a train pass please
Attendant: to where?
Me: from Central to Sloterdijk
Attendant: Het is niet mogelijk
Me: Oh, do you not sell monthly passes?
Attendant: Ja, we sell passes for a month
Me: Ok, um...can I get one?
Attendant: Het is niet mogelijk
Me: Do you not sell them for those stations?
Attendant: Ja, you can get a pass for the stations
Me: Ok...I want to get a pass for a month for those stations. What do I need to do?
Attendatnt: We sell them at the next window
Me: WHY the @*#*!% didn't you just say that?!!! @)(#*$)(@#*$()@!!!!
Me: [walks to next window] I'd like to get a pass for a month please between Central and Sloterdjik
Attendant #2: Het is niet mogelijk...we're sold out

How I moved from DC to Amsterdam in 10 minutes

So I was on sabbatical from my job because, let's face it - as an early 30's American woman that's the only way you can actually take a vacation that is longer than 5 days. As the plane took off I looked over Washington DC - my home of the past 11 years - and I was finally able to breathe looking ahead to a fun 9 weeks of holiday. First stop was London to visit my friend Cat who was living there for a year having moved from NYC. I got in and spent 1 1/2 days in London before we were back at Heathrow airport - which was having one of its signature passenger clogs going through customs and security - to head to Amsterdam for the weekend. We were meeting up with our friends Molly who was flying in from NYC and Christina from London. A great way to start my 9 weeks of freedom!

My sense of carefree relaxation was short lived as the giant CF in the security line almost made us miss our flight so we are running at top speed through the airport trying to put back on our various items of clothing they'd made us take off...You know in case I was smuggling a WMD in my PONYTAIL HOLDER!! We run onto the plane barley making it before they close the doors only to be received by 120 sets of angry eyeballs. Clearly we were making the plane wait. I walked down the aisle panting and dragging my slightly too big carry-on, winter coat and purse. I could feel my popularity rising as I had to move some bags to accommodate mine, but finally it was in and I took my middle seat in the back of the plane.

Middle seat...great. Sigh... Oh well it's only 45 minutes from London to Amsterdam...

I actually don't have the same level of hatred for the middle seat as most people. Sure it's cramped, you can avail yourself of neither armrest as it's usually being coopted by your seatmates and it's inevitable that your traytable is going to malfunction in some manner, but it is one seat closer to the window. Ahh the window. The best seat in the house. Not for the views, mind you, but being somewhat afraid of flying I feel strongly about monitoring the progress of the plane by looking out the window to see where we are. I seem to be operating under the dillusion if I can see that we're flying along we can't possibly crash. Of course my theory is flawed as this also would give me a ring side seat if we were to suddenly hurdle toward the earth, but...details.

So there I sit in my middle seat reading the inflight magazine since I have managed to forget to get my book out of my "slightly too large" carry on and there's not way I'm getting up as the woman next to me is looking at me like "Just try it lady."

The flight thankfully goes quickly and we touch down with a loud THUD as the pilot wishes to announce our arrival into Amsterdam by having the passengers believe our wheels have fallen off. The gentleman in the window seat and I exchange an "uhh, I guess we're here. Eeeeassy there fellah!" You know the general nervous chitchat you engage in when you think you've narrowly escaped a firey death. So we start with the "Do you live in London or Amsterdam?"

We exchange stories while taxiing to the gate - I'm from Washington DC on break from my job traveling. He's from Amsterdam.
"Oh what do you do?" he asks
"I work for an interactive marketing firm, [more detail about my job.] What do you do?"
"I work for XX company - US based company at the European headquarters in Amsterdam."

After 10 minutes of polite conversation we arrive. I'm walking with my friend Cat, whose fingers are on fire having a fight with co-workers on her crackberry, and window gentleman comes up to me.

"I don't know if you're interested, but we're looking for someone with your skills. We need someone to run the marketing department for our european headquarters. If you'd like to find out about the job send me an email or give me a call." hands me his business card. "Director of HR", it reads. Now various things run though my mind at rapid speed:

- But...it's only my SECOND day of my NINE week vacation!!!
- WOW, I wasn't really happy at my job...could it be this easy?
- uh oh, I wonder if he knows I'm American and therefore practically by definition am not versed in 3 languages like the rest of the world. Quick! Say something in French even if it's wrong!

I spent that weekend in Amsterdam with my friends barely thinking about the card in my pocket. But returning to London I decided...what the hell.

After that weekend it was 16 interviews (yes you saw right...16) and one plane trip later and I had a new job. In between anxiety attacks thinking about moving to a foreign country where I didn't speak the language and knew not a soul I packed my bags and was on a plane with a one-way ticket to Amsterdam.

And all it took was 10 minutes and the middle seat...