Update: I just remembered a few months before we left Singapore, when we were agonizing over whether to move or not, give up the bigger (joint) income or not, and basically freaking out all the bloody time. We couldn't talk about anything else for weeks. Finally one afternoon in the pool (pool! I miss swimming!), Marlon said, "You know what, six months from now, we'll be in Amsterdam laughing about this and wondering what took us so long to decide."
Well we are now at that six-month point. And what do you know... we are laughing. No regrets.
Then, a huge milestone for me: I went out on my bike. We brought our bikes to Haarlem one weekend and spent some time cycling along the canals. But Amsterdam, with all its traffic (pedestrians, bikes, scooters, cars), is a different animal. Since my goal is to bike by myself regularly, I thought becoming familiar with the route to a place that I actually frequent would be a good start. So with Marlon as my guide (and hawi boy, haha), we biked to the Albert Cuypmarkt.
Intersections are the bane of my beginner's existence. I'm completely atrocious at starting up again after a stop, so I veered and wobbled into quite a few cars' path, and probably left quite a few bikers behind me rolling their eyes. One particularly tricky intersection where the bike lane disappeared completely shredded my nerves, and I took to wheeling my bike across the pedestrian lane on several occasions.
The market was closed when we got there, but... I got there! Woohoo! So we took to a bench in the Sarphatipark to calm my frayed nerves, celebrated with some excellent lemon cheesecake ice cream from Het Ijspaleis, and I resolved to keep at it until both my biking skills and confidence improve.
It was only on my bike ride home that I noticed that I had been wearing a tight frown and chewing on my lip all throughout. I made a conscious effort to iron out my features (like my flamenco teacher used to insist we do). And looking calm and collected—even happy—was easy, because the ride home was much, much better. Marlon led me down a different route with fewer intersections and less traffic, and I had a much easier time of it.
On the way home, my big loving bear of a husband bought me yellow roses to celebrate. Yes, arriving home in one piece, insurance intact, deserves flowers. He also pulled a first by biking home one-handed, with a bouquet of flowers in one arm. So very Dutch! Now all he needs to do is mount a baby between his handlebars and start texting with the other hand, and he'll be a full-blown Amsterdammer.
In the evening we got all dressed up for dinner at Lucius, a seafood restaurant in the city center. And no, we didn't bike there. But I look forward to hopefully, someday, becoming one of the legions of Dutch superwomen who get dolled up in heels and a dress and think nothing of biking to dinner.
Just as I look forward to more adventures in Amsterdam with my one and only partner in crime. Happy six months to us, Amsterdam. Let's make the remaining (at least) 4.5 years count.
