Ede-Wageningen (pronounced ay-day-va-(spit/hack)-in-en)

I arrived in Ede-Wageningen at 7:32 in the evening, after leaving the train in a puddle of saliva and spit ... the dutch language certainly is one that is harsh and very 'projected'. I found this out after asking an older man where the train I was one was heading and he replied confidently "to eh-day-va-hock-in-en". I thanked him for the information, dryed off my face and sat down and cracked a beer. They did however all notice my Canadian flags. It is true, the Dutch really do love Canadians. One old woman regaled me with a tale of how she remembers the Canadians liberating her town in 1945. She seemed so happy and it was definitely clear to see she remebered the day she was liberated with the Germans just as though it were yesterday. Being here really makes you feel a different sense of pride in being a Canadian citizen.

I finally found my way to Mel's at a little after 8 in the evening. I found that Ede-Wageningen is really a 'twin city' town. The big town being Ede, and the smaller student community of Wageningen is only a short 10-15 mins to the south. Mel is a tremendously gracious host. After she fed me dinner and had stock-piled both wine and beer, we headed for the booming waspitigen club scene ... on bike's of course, I mean we are in Holland. And by bikes, I mean bike ... me pedalling, and Mel on the back. And on top of it all, as if this weren't enough fun, Mel ingeniously bought herself a child's bike. Each time my leg came up from the downside of the rotation, my knees were knocking around the handlebars causing the bike to noticeably shake. I hd to change my pedalling habits and learn to pedal with my knees in a very spread manner to escape the grasp of the metal bars that continuously prodded me on each and every revolution. We found our first hangout to find that on weekends the entire town goes home and a ghost town of sorts emerges. We had to beers at €1.50 each and decided to move on to the next bar. We got there, which Mel forgot to alert me was on a gradually increasing incline of a hill that seemed to stretch to the horizon without any sign of planing off and flattening. We reached this second bar, after trying to get directions from drunken dutchmen with Mels extremely broken Dutch ... we did make it safely, me panting as Mel skipped hapily in a drunken manner to the front door, only to be rejected entrance. It was 3:15 in the morning, and although the club stayed open until 5am, last entrance was 1:30. Disappointed Mel wanted to talk her way in ... I had been up for several hours and was happy just heading back for another beer to her place. The descent down the hill was far more enjoyable for me ... Mel drunk as a skunk did not likely notice that her life was in grave danger letting a sloppy me ride downhill on a bike after having half a bottle of wine and copious amount of beer in my system.

We decided to put a DVD on, and might have gotten 5 minutes into the first episode of CSI before we both passed out.

I awoke the next morning to hear Mel explain "I can feel my face getting puffy and expanding .... ughh Bentley I feel like a big pile". She paints a vivid picture doesn't she? We rose that morning at the crack of noon to venture into town for a Dutch lunch. After the evening lst night we decided to reverse the order on the bike, she would pedal, and I would ride the back ... possibly the worst mistake I have ever made. Not saying that she can't ride a bike, but the size of her bike caused my feet to either drag perilously on the ground and jagged streets, or forced me to hold them up in very unflattering postion in a spread stirrup sort of way. Not to mention that I was straddling the medal rims with no incling of there ever being a pillow there ... I felt every single bump and dip in the road in the most intimate of ways, and by no means did I enjoy it ... I forgot the safe word "Blechlawinehottentotententententoonstelling" ... don't ask what it means, I still have nightmre's over it. We found our way into the town square that seemed deserted at first, but it soon opened up nd we had lunch. Lunch was awesome, the Dutch do know how to do sandwiches very, very well. We ordered, Mel not getting anything to drink because her hangover was still yelling at her. We realized the extent that many Europeans do not wear deodourant ... a guy sat down at the table next to ours, and I am quite certian the wafting musk began peeling the paint on the little fence behind us. He stink brought tears to my eyes. I ended up having a burger, that consisted of: a panini bun, mayo, lettuce, bacon, tomato, more mayo, thick beef patty, melted cheese, red peppers, green peppers, onions, sauteed mushrooms, bbq sauce, a fried egg, and more melted cheese. I was in artery clogging heaven. It was magically wonderful. We road back to Mel's, I pedalled again (on the trip there, I was yelled at by an old man for making the female pedal, apparently chivalry is still alive and kicking in Holland). We made it back, and decided to have a lazy afternoon of movies and ice cream, and photo uploading. Mel cooked dinner again that night, we had a few more beers and that was the end of my stay in small town Netherlands.

The following morning on the 4th of June, I bid Mel farewell, and thanked her repeatedly for her great treatment ... hell she even made me a sack lunch for the train. I departed for Amsterdam early in the morning with high hopes in store for my stay in every way imagineable.