Melanie Martin Goes Dutch (9 page)

Mom and Dad asked Cecily what she had packed, and she said, “Clothes and a gift for you two, but nothing I need right away, so don't worry.”

Wait a sec. Now Cecily is telling my parents not to worry???

I'm probably just cranky because I hardly got any sleep.

Well, the luggage people said we should wait for the next flight from London. So we did. Cecily and I started playing my favorite hand game, Quackadilioso. But Matt wanted to play. I said, “You don't even know how.” Cecily said, “That's okay. We can teach him.” Ten seconds later, the two of them were clapping away.

Which was fine. Who wants to clap in public anyway?

I'm just looking around at posters of colorful tulips and pretty windmills and at signs in Dutch and English. No Smoking in Dutch is
Niet Roken
(Neat Row Ken). Beware of Pickpockets is Let Op
Zakkenrollers
(Let Op Zock En Rrrollers).

Zakkenrollers
. Isn't that the weirdest word??

I'm also listening to people talking different languages. I can't understand a single syllable.

Mostly I am just trying to take my mind off my worries. But I'm still worried. What if Hedgehog is in Africa or Asia or Antarctica and I never see her again?

Mom says she's between New York and Amsterdam and I should be patient.

I'm trying, but patience has never been my specialty.

Little poems are my specialty.

Impatiently—

Dear Diary,

Well, we waited and waited for the next flight from London and when it arrived, we watched tons more happy tourists pick up their luggage. All that did was get us madder and tireder.

More tired.

Whatever.

The luggage people apologized (big of them) and said they will send us our luggage as soon as they locate it.

They better!

What a Big Fat Waste of Time. Instead of getting a lovely first impression of Holland, we spent the whole morning in Schiphol Airport (Mom calls it Ski Pole).

We have now decided to take a taxi to where we're staying even though we won't be able to unpack.

“We're giving up?” I asked.

Mom said sometimes it's wise to give up.

Dad said it's time to begin our vacation.

Matt said his tooth is getting really loose.

Cecily didn't say anything because she is in the
toiletten
(Twa Let Ten). In the
toiletten
, you have two choices:
Dames
(Dom Iss) or
Heren
(Hair Ren).
Heren
starts with Her, which is why I almost almost almost went in the wrong door! Fortunately a nice Dutch man said, “No, no, over there.” Later Mom told me that dame is an old-fashioned slang word for woman, like damsel, and that
Dames
is the door to pick if you're a dame.

Dear Diary,

We are staying in the coooooolest place! It's a canal house, which is a big house next to a canal (
kanaal
, pronounced Con Ahl). That's a man-made river. The house used to be the home of a rich family. We just checked in and we're on the third floor, but there's no elevator, so we came up this dark staircase with steps that were so steep and narrow that Dad had to turn his big feet sideways just to walk up them. We have a suite. Mom and Dad share the bedroom, and Cecily, Matt, and I share the living room. Cecily and I are going to sleep on a big, soft, comfortable sofa bed (yay!) and Matt will sleep on a stiff little cot (hee hee).

I'm glad we have our own room. Sometimes when we take trips, Mom and Dad and Matt and I share one room, and that can start out cozy but end up messy.

Here's what I love about this hotel: When you look out the window, you see water where you expect to see
a street. And boats! Big boats, little boats, motorboats, sailboats, even paddleboats. Some boats are actually
parked
along the canal. And some boats are houseboats that people live in all the time. You can see tricycles on them and flapping laundry. People actually have birthday parties on them! We also saw one boat that was in the shape of a wooden shoe!

Matt is standing at the window waving like crazy to all the boat passengers. A few have waved back.

Mom said that in winter, the canals freeze over, and instead of boats, there are skaters out there. She said
that in Holland, people sometimes skate from one city to another.

“Awesome!” Matt said.

Dad got out his guidebook and told us to sit down. I sat on one side and Cecily sat on the other, and he showed us where we are on the map. Picture a spiderweb that is blue—as if the web were water—and plunk it on top of a bunch of land, and that is what Amsterdam looks like.

New York's streets and avenues are wide and mostly go straight up and down or side to side. (Manhattan is like a long, skinny waffle that's been nibbled on.) Amsterdam's streets and canals are skinny and mostly curve in half-circles.

“It's sooo cooool,” Cecily said. “The canals look like the ripples a stone makes when you throw it in water.”

Dad said, “They sort of do, don't they?”

Mom came over. “You're right. They fan out just like ripples.”

I was going to say that to me, the canals looked like a big blue spiderweb. I didn't, though.

Okay. I have another awful confession. I'm suddenly
not a hundred percent totally positive that having Cecily along is such a great idea after all.

Matt, Mom, and Dad seem to think it is.

Here is my new poem.

Grumpily yours,