Although the day was gray and cloudy, I ventured out into the cold and sauntered through the picturesque streets, searching for a souvenir for a friend. (No, Iszi, no matter how hard you insist, I will not buy Joseph a butt plug. Even if you’re letting me crash at your house when I fly to Dulles in May. Our marriage has limits.)
I made the mistake of walking into Primark empty-handed and walking out with two shirts, though in my defense, I under-packed for my time in France and need more clothes. M and I then met up and headed to the public library, and I’ve officially decided that I want to live there. Seriously, the place has seven floors, English and French books, a restaurant, and a view.
After lunch, we set off in search of pancakes, because being in Amsterdam calls for experiencing Dutch pancakes. Thanks to TripAdvisor, we found a little hole-in-the wall shop called The Happy Pig, and oh my god. That pancake batter. All other pancakes have officially been ruined for me.
We hadn’t been expecting quite so much pancake, so M and I decided to walk off that early dinner by strolling through the city again. I’m pretty sure that, even though I got back to my hostel an hour-and-a-half ago, my poor feet are ready to revolt and run off to find a new, less abusive owner.