invasion of bahrain

Episode #1

Too Tired to Post

Monday Morning and I am all nerves. I woke up early because I wanted to get in a good walk and take care of some other errands before I went to the airport. It's never a good idea to have this much to do before a flight, but timing isn't always on your side.

I got some American dinero out of the bank and picked up a package at the post office that had my KC Royals hat in it. I need that hat to keep the heat off and I want to send a message to everyone in the Middle East and Africa that I am not afraid of who I am. Especially if who I am is someone who favors a bad baseball team. Never be ashamed to express your love.

The airport security tags me for not checking any luggage on a trip to the Middle East. Every part of me gets a healthy licking and pawing over before they let me on the plane. I am expecting a lousy flight with no food so I forage as much chow as I can. In my haste, I grab a ham and cheese sandwich and some extra crispy potato chips.

A mix up with the airline has blessed me with the greatest single gift of all time - A first class plane ticket for a 9 hour flight. And it's a front row seat so there is nothing but acreage in front of me. I get a thick, fluffy pillow and blanket. A gift bag with an eye cover, fresh booties, lip balm, tooth brush, a selection of over a hundred movies, and a seat that reclines to a completely prone position and it massages your back - For nine wonderful hours.

I chose not to sleep thinking the best plan of action was to stay awake through the next day and sleep when I get all the way to Bahrain. It's a foolish mistake that I will pay for later, but I was confused by the ever-so relaxing back massage. Instead of sleep, I watched five or six movies. Most of them were good.

I landed in Amsterdam at 7 a.m. Amsterdam has always had the misfortune of being the first place I see in Europe when I'm terribly jet-lagged. This time would be no different. The sun is bright and I have 7 hours before my connecting flight so I have some time to tour.

I put my bag in a luggage locker at the airport and all I take with me is my passport, my money and the receipt that allows me to get my stuff back. I am wearing my sweat pants, my hoodie and my KC Royals hat. I scream, "AMERICAN!"

I was warned that Amsterdam was the pick pocket capital of the world and I am wearing an outfit that only has two pockets in it, both of which are wide open, easy targets for the best pick-pockets in the world. My nerves are even more rattled by the fact that I am just entering the natural time of sleep and I don't stay awake against my will well. I look haggered and strung out, but I am in the right town for it.

I catch the train in to Amsterdam in the basement of the airport and I get off the train at the exact same train station that I left Amsterdam in on my last trip here. So it's sort of a "coming home" feeling and a good omen for me. I ask for directions to Anne Frank's house figuring that I only have time to see that before I need to get back. It's the first time my accent has fallen out here and suddenly I feel eyes upon me. If they want my goods, it's gonna be a fight.

I am walking Amsterdam at 9 a.m. There is a bustle of early morning activity and a lot of sexy Europeans on bikes riding around. The more I look at these people the less I think "pot head" and the more I think "sex pot." Europeans always look like they could either break out in to a massive orgy at any second or that they are going to spit on you. Kinda sexy either way you look at it.

Anne Frank's house is famous for its seven hour wait to get in. Most restaurants could only dream of this kind of turn out. There isn't a soul there. I get in and I am out in less than thirty minutes. Not that I didn't appreciate it, I just didn't get into it. For one - no photos. Two - Anne Frank's house is bigger than mine. I was under the impression that the lived in a tiny little box. This thing had two stories and a beautiful view. I guess I was just too tired to fully get the point.

I was back at the airport at 11. I picked up my gear and found my gate. No security checks, nothing. I get to the gate and it's mostly Middle Eastern folks and a few rich white fellas, so I know I must be in the right spot. I'm famished after my morning so I reach into my bag and grab