Ik ben in Nederland

Things that are great about an 8-hour plane trip with KLM:
1. It ends with me being in the Netherlands
2. The stewardesses on KLM are Dutch, so they have these soothing accents and they tend to be quite tall, so you kind of size them up and think yeah, she could take a terrorist down. 
3. The food is not half bad.
4. You can catch up on your reading

Now, things that are not so great:
1. I was in literally the last row of the plane
2. I was in economy and the seats were so small I basically had to give the person next to me a lap dance just to use the bathroom.
3. My seatmate.

Let me explain about this guy. He was a huge Nigerian man who just sort of spilled over into my seat. And for 8 hours, we were basically best buddies. He slept leaning on my shoulder. He snored. His breath smelled in the morning. He drank five beers before he had to use the restroom (bladder of steel, he had). He itched his junk in his sleep. He did strange exercises to keep his circulation flowing, knocking me with his elbows in the process. 

Miserable.

Also, when we were sitting in the terminal waiting for the flight, I was  - I'll admit - looking for Most Likely To Blow Up A Plane Person. I had identified the only person who didn't look incredible happy and decided it was definitely him. He was frowning and clenching his fists and rocking back and forth a little, wearing black and a scary scowl. But then, he stood up and went to the bathroom. And he was wearing tight, sparkly gold wash jeans. Terrorists do not, I assure you, bedazzle their jeans.

But otherwise, the flight went smoothly, although I didn't sleep a wink and it's now 7:00 pm Dutch time. I haven't slept in upwards of thirty hours. I got settled into my apartment at around 10:30 and hit the streets looking for a coffee shop and exploring, but most importantly, desperately seeking coffee.

When I lived in the Netherlands, I was too young to know what a "brown cafe" was, or to drink coffee. Let's just say I went into three coffee shops, all of which were on main streets and looked very upscale and classy (seriously, they didn't even having leaves painted on their doors, and all of the names included the word "coffee" and not the words "weed" or "herb"), before I gave up looking for caffeine, discouraged by the heady wafts of marijuana smoke in each establishment.

I went instead to a grocer and bought tea and am trying to stay ah- ah- awa....zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.