Follow the yellow brick road.

What happens when you are in the act of travelling is you find every step a little heavier. You continue walking, you know you're headed somewhere and if it's a foot more, a meter more or a country more - you'll get there - it exists. You have an aim, but (sometimes) more important a target. You know where you'll land. The 20 kilos (40lbs.) on your back seems to know the closer you get to take on last minute "water weight." The sweat starts d r i p p i n g down you face, your lips become the most chapped they've ever been, your pants are slipping under the muffin top, your hair falls out of it's pony tail, the strap on your purse breaks, there's a rock in your shoe and you have to pee- but you don't stop. Around this corner? Is this the street? What's it called again? Is that it? There it is!

Your pack is lopped to the ground and you yourself lop on the closest bed. It isn't a full minute even until you're in the bathroom adjusting those hairs and emptying that bladder. Ready. And there it is... a new city. What happend 10, 20 minutes before is nothing but a memory. This is Amsterdam.