Transcribed from my paper journal written on Saturday, December 12, 2009 High in the Sky (Photos to be posted shortly. Check in again)
“Gary, let’s hold hands as we head to a land that holds our future.” This time, the take off was smooth and even now, though intensely cramped with a food tray still out with the remains of my in flight Asian cuisine, my money belt cutting off my circulation and my pillow clamped under my arm against my full bladder, I can still say the flight feels fine because I have no worries when there is an absence of turbulence.
We arrived in the Amsterdam airport at 11:30am (local time) after having traveled a red-eye, but only slept at most 1-2 hours. Though I had already decided we’d stay at the airport for the 6 hour and 20 minute layover, it was Gary who insisted we venture out. I was nervous about it but airport staff said, provided we kept tabs of time, we’d be fine. I am so grateful we had the chance to do that for unexpectedly on that layover, a dream came true for me when I got the chance to see where Anne Frank hid.
For any future travelers who might have such a layover, I want to assure you this is doable and works out just fine.
When we got off the plane, we confirmed we were already checked in for the trip to Almaty. We found lockers near the gate we needed to be at later on. Six euros later, all our carry ons were stashed away except for my point and shoot camera and flip video. We purchase train tickets right in the airport round trip for 8 euros each to Central Station. 
Like a big yellow monorail, the ride was about 20 minutes long and we arrived at 12:45 pm. Once outside, there we were — in the Amsterdam I’d only read about with shops, canals, boats, hundreds of bikes and riders and a famed scent wafting out from Coffeehouse doorways. When Gary even asked a store worker for directions, he was talking to him with a joint in his fingertips. It was weird to see — the openness, the medical cannibis and “seed” shops everywhere.
We were walking in the right direction towards the Anne Frank House. Had I purchased tickets online we would have walked right in through a special doorway. As it turned out, we had about a 30 minute wait and a quick lunch while doing so. The self guided tour took us about 50 minutes.
To see Anne Frank’s house to me was a supremely special experience. Her quoted words are on the wall — what profound thoughts she had. A video of her father Otto stated how surprised he was at reading it — these deep thoughts were not the daughter he knew and though he and Anne were extremely close, he said perhaps one never knows one’s children.
To walk up those steep creaking stairs to the attic — so steep I kept banging my knees on the steps above me. The windows with black out shades to show how no outside light could appear, the celebrity cut outs and postcards glued to Anne’s walls. the street where she hid in her father’s office is so beautiful – sunny, over looking a canal and small bridges and full of life. To know the horror that lay outside her window, to imagine the panic of hiding in secret and the terror of being found. To know she didn’t make it after all. It was a part of history, and even that of my own childhood history having read her diary many times, that I am glad to have experienced. I am grateful Gary insisted we venture out for this 3 hour round trip jaunt.
By 2:55pm, we began the walk back to the station, passing pleasant streets, taking a few photos.
We got on the train at 3:30 pm and were back to the airport at 3:50 pm and had our bags by 4:10 pm. Ready for the 5:40 pm flight.
I called up my mom and spoke to the kids and boarding was soon after.
It really wound up being perfect for the brief time — to walk on foot on a beautiful and mild Fall-like day in Amsterdam, see the museum and head back. Even the train was pleasant and smooth.
The people in Amsterdam were on the whole very tall. I am used to finding Gary in a crowd very easily — in Amsterdam, his height did not make him stand out. Too many other tall heads, but many blond. 99% of people spoke English so it felt like home.
At boarding time, it was finally my first official glimpse into the Kazakh people. Instead of watching Freestylo on Youtube and homemade videos called “People of Kazakhstan”, here i was with a few hundred of these fine people in person. Gary and I were one of the very few causasian people, certain one of a handful of Americans, if any.
As everyone says, the women are very beautiful, one prettier than the next. Stylish, striking features, high cheekcones, glossy hair, many tall or appointed in boots that make them so. Some young 20-something boys seated across from me are very attractive, slim, low slung jeans, beanie caps. Perhaps I am staring too much but I’m just wondering how my own boy will look, if he is even Asian at all. The woman in front of me has frizzy red hair, bright blue eyes and round Asian features with very high and round cheeks. Her husband almost looks like an Asian version of my father.
I don’t even know what to expect and it’s all okay. I popped in my iPod and inspired myself with an adoption playlist of sorts and I just feel that we have come this far, my attitude is good and open. I think once settled, after showing himself to be adventurous, Gary’s will be too.
I know I am going to crash soon. I slept only an hour before. But I am exhausted beyond belief.
We are heading into another morning so soon we will be 11 hours ahead of my family in New York.
To look behind me on the plane as I write and see a sea of beautiful Kazakh faces is beyond comprehension. I am excited for what will unfold. Cautious too but eager to walk through the next door.
Sunday, December 13, 2009 Hotel Kazakhstan 10:40 am
It’s amazing what sunlight and a great, peaceful buffet breakfast can do to a girl.
Me at my first buffet breakfast at Hotel Kazakhstan after traveling for 25 hours. 
Four hours ago, after having arrived in the pitch black of early morning to a strange language and people reaching for my bags yelling “Taxi! Taxi”, we saw our driver holding up a sign with our names. The crowd was so tight, like paparazzi surrounding the red carpet, it almost felt like an attack and I know I ran over some toes with my luggage to get to the man who knew our names. He spoke no English but nodded at us, smiled with his gold teeth and gestured and we followed him. “Emankule” is what his name sounds like, but for all I know it could be entirely different.
In the light of day here in this hotel, I feel so much better than I did upon arrival — tired, nervous, frustrated at the service, at our broken toilet, broken locks, room confusion. In the light of day, I no longer felt afraid, homesick and like crying. We don’t stick out as much as we did at the airport, though I haven’t yet heard non-native English which would be nice around now. A young pretty woman at the dessert bar in the hotel just spoke perfect English to me and my heart delighted. She said “Try these desserts, they are fresh.”
11 am — Met with Tatyana for the first time and were taken to lunch at Venezia though we were so full from the breakfast.
I immediately felt to be in good hands, if not still a bit in the dark about how this was all about to go down.
