We didn’t even know where we were going to stay.
The rest of the pub staff rented a cottage in North England for the holidays, but Stan was determined to do something bigger.
This was our first Christmas away from our collective families and though neither of us would admit it, we missed them.
So Stan wanted to take his mind off things, fight off the impending home sickness that was hovering above us.
The best way to do this was to have the polar opposite of a family Christmas.
Where better than Amsterdam?
The moment we set foot outside the station, a tall, creepy guy with tinted glasses and a fanny-pack immediately approached us.
“You guys American?”
Was it that obvious?
“Yeah, St. Louis,” Stan responded before I could remind him we were raised never to talk to strangers. This guy was a windowless van away from being everything we were warned about.
“Need a place to stay? Follow me.”
So we did.