Last week, Schmap guides wrote to tell me both of the pictures on the shortlist were actually selected and are now published on their guides.  I am kindof excited and wanted to share!   It’s cool to know other people actually like these pictures, considering I enjoy taking them so much.

In case of curiosity, here are the links to the guides to the Berlin Friedriechshain, and to the Amsterdam Zuid Kerk.   Hope they tempt you to visit, whether for the first time or for the sake of the old times.

The woman told me the total, and as I reached across the counter to pay,  one of the coins escaped the transfer from my hand to hers and jumped into the Tom Kha Kai soup.

At that exact moment, the woman turned her head and did not see what I felt was one of the biggest tragedies of Tom Kha Kai soup history.  My jaw dropped and I turned my beet-red face to my friend, who stared back at me just as frozen.  The woman turned back to give the change, and I just stared and took the money without knowing what to say.  I felt like the moment to say something had long passed, and I did not even know how to admit that one of my coins had dived into her pot of beautiful soup, and that I had not spoken up straight away.  We walked out of the tiny place, and I had said nothing.

By this time, the acceptable admission time had way expired, and I felt there was no way I could save the situation.  I unlocked my bike and got ready to ride away, embarrassed and guilty.  I debated with myself for what seemed like too long.

In the end, I couldn’t ride away.  I decided to suck it up, go back in, and tell.  It was a full 10 minutes after, at least.  I ended up confessing to the Thai lady, who tried to understand my English through signs and mimes.  She was incredibly patient and gracious in her response, and even asked if I wanted the coin back.  Thankfully the pot had not been full and it was late in the night, so it wasn’t a huge loss.

We enjoyed the food and I kicked bum at SM3 for the rest of the night.

Sometimes it is so true that it is definitely better late than never, even when late seems to have no conceivable upside other than the selfish easing of one’s own conscience.

The first time I came to Amsterdam, I was impressed watching the stylish Dutch women riding bikes in high heels and stockings, pushing a bakfiets (wagon, a.k.a. family car) attached to the front of their bikes, with a small child seat on the bike handle and another medium one in the back – all full of children.  At the same time, a color-coordinated bag was on the shoulder of the hand they used to hold a mobile to their ear or a bag of groceries on the side.  I think I am slowly becoming one of these women, without the bakfiets and child seats yet.   I bought a used Dutch bike, a Gazelle, beat up enough for two reasons: so it would be less appealing for bike swippers, and so that I wouldn’t feel bad losing it to any potential falls into the canals.  My first test was to become comfortable enough with the single-gear, pedal brake bike, without throwing myself to the ground to stop each time.  I’ve talked to many people that grew up riding these, and have realized my parents were way too nice to me by letting me use the fancy hand breaks.  I didn’t have braking fully down before adding an old plastic beer crate to the front to carry groceries, because walking is so unappealing now that I have wheels.  I know, big challenge.  I realized I needed to start lifting weights when the front of the bike was too heavy to lift onto the sidewalk.  It was during this time that I broke my own record for the highest number of bruises on my legs at one time.  It reminded me of life as a 7 year old.  I’m happy to say that now I can handle riding a full grocery basket, texting and talking on the mobile, with the fancy bag on the shoulder, all at the same time.  Oh, and that’s without throwing myself to the ground to stop the bike.

So, back to the first snow of the season.  Everyone is still riding, as they do.  And so do we.  Next stop will be Thanksgiving shopping at the Albert Cuypmarkt, where I get all those groceries I put in the basket.  They sell everything from wd-40 oil for those pesky bike locks, to tulips, famous cheese wheels and fabrics, to freshly feathered pheasants, with plenty of feathers still left.  It’s open-air every day, except Sundays, come hail or high winds, and now snow.