Chapter 8: Mike and Elizaveta’s Excellent Adventure, Part I

June 8, 1985, Chicago, Illinois

“How long before we board?” Elizaveta asked.

“I’d say about forty minutes,” Abby replied. “This plane is half cargo, so it won’t take as long to board as if it were all passengers.”

“Half cargo?” I asked.

“I read that a 747 can be configured in quite a few different ways, with various seating configurations. I checked, and found out that KLM uses some of their planes to move cargo as well as passengers.”

“Eight hours cooped up in a metal tube,” Sandy said. “Not my idea of fun.”

“Eat your dinner, watch the movie, and sleep,” Pete suggested. “We’ll be there before you know it!”

“Any idea what the movie is?” she asked.

“No clue,” he said. “We could ask.”

“It’s not important, really.”

“We all should sleep,” Abby said. “Otherwise we’ll waste most of a day in Amsterdam tomorrow. If you remember the itinerary we worked out, we already have about seven days which will be consumed with travel, though some of those are overnight so sleeping on the train reduces the time lost.”

“All I can say is I’m glad I’m used to being on my feet for hours on end!” I said.

“Me, too!” Elizaveta exclaimed.

“I’ve had a little practice,” Clarissa said.

“You guys are talking about church, right?” Abby asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Just wait until your Residency, Mike. When I did my practical training, I was on my feet for twenty-four hours straight at times.”

“Ugh!” Sandy groaned. “I don’t even want to think about that for four years!”

“KLM is pleased to announce that flight 611 to Amsterdam will begin pre-boarding. If you need additional time or assistance in boarding the aircraft, please come to the desk. First Class and Elite members may board at any time.“

“We’re in stowage, right?” Pete asked.

“We bought the absolute lowest-price tickets we could find,” I said. “So whatever that is.”

“It means we’re in Coach and we board after First Class and Business Class,” Abby said.

“Any idea what a First Class ticket costs?” I asked.

“Five to ten times what we paid, I think.”

“Yikes!” I exclaimed. “Is it really that different?”

“Better food, china, silverware, free drinks, more comfortable seats, and more personal service,” Abby said.

“For that price, the service better be VERY personal!” Pete declared, then exclaimed, “Oof!” as Sandy elbowed him in the ribs.

“No ‘Coffee, tea, or me’ for you, unless the ‘me’ is me!” Sandy declared.

“Mile-High Club?” Clarissa teased.

“What’s that?” Elizaveta asked.

“Sex in an airplane while it’s flying,” I chuckled. “But there’s no privacy.”

“Lavatories,” Abby said.

“Gross!” Elizaveta exclaimed.

“KLM will now begin boarding our First Class passengers.“

“You can fly first class when you’re all rich doctors!” Abby said.

“That sounds like a quick way to become a ‘poor’ doctor,” I replied. “Elizaveta, does your dad fly First Class?”

“No. He flies Coach, like we are.”

“KLM will now begin boarding our Business Class passengers.“

“And that ticket?” I asked.

“About double a full fare ticket, so probably three times our ticket price. It’s probably halfway between First Class and Coach.”

“Just how bad are the seats we’ll be in?” I asked.

“They aren’t bad,” Abby replied. “They’ll actually be better than the ones on the smaller plane we were on flying to Chicago.”

“KLM will now begin boarding passengers seated in rows 35 to 45.“

“That’s us,” I said. “Row 40.”

We joined the relatively short line to board the plane with other passengers getting in line behind us. The gate attendant checked our boarding passes and passports, and allowed us onto the plane. We walked down the Jetway, and at the door to the plane, a stewardess directed us down the aisle. Elizaveta and I had 40B and 40C, Abby and Clarissa had 40D and 40E, and Pete and Sandy had 40F and 40G. The plane wasn’t full, and when they closed the doors, seat 40A was still empty.

We buckled in, and after the safety announcement, the plane was pushed back from the gate and we began taxiing towards the runway. About fifteen minutes later, the engines screamed and I took Elizaveta’s hand. A few seconds later the plane hurtled down the runway, pushing us back in our seats. The wheels left the tarmac and the plane climbed quickly into the air, making a sharp left turn not long after we left the ground.

June 8, 1985, en route from Chicago, Illinois to Amsterdam, the Netherlands

“Did you bring the gum?” I asked Elizaveta.

“In my purse,” she replied.

She got her purse from under the seat in front of us, opened it, extracted a package of Wrigley’s Spearmint gum, tore open the package, and offered me a stick. I unwrapped it, popped it into my mouth, and a few seconds later, my ears felt much, much better. Elizaveta took a stick of gum for herself before she put the pack back in her purse and put the purse back under the seat.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Our flight time to Amsterdam is seven hours and fifty minutes, and we will be cruising at an altitude of 38,000 feet. We don’t expect any turbulence, but, for your own safety, please keep your safety belts buckled when you are in your seat. I’ll be back to speak to you just before we land. Have a nice flight.“

The announcement was repeated in what I assumed was Dutch, and when it finished, the stewardess began serving drinks. Elizaveta and I both chose Sprite because the travel agent had recommended not drinking caffeine. Thirty minutes later, dinner was served. The only word I could use for the meal was ‘passable’; the food served by Taft’s cafeteria had been far better.

“I should have packed a meal for us,” Elizaveta said. “Even leftovers would be better than this!”

“I agree. I was just thinking that the school food was better.”

“I don’t know if I’d go THAT far,” Elizaveta said. “I never asked, but do you like to try new food?”

“Yes. That’s something I’m really looking forward to on this trip.”

“I take it you plan to sleep because we’ve seen Ladyhawke?”

“Yes.”

We finished eating and declined coffee. When they turned off the cabin lights, I got us each a pillow and blanket from the overhead storage bin. I reclined my seat and covered myself with my blanket.

“Do you think it’s OK if I stretch out on the other seat?” Elizaveta asked.

“I can’t imagine why it wouldn’t be.”

“Will it bother you if I put my pillow on your lap?”

“Of course not.”

Elizaveta put her pillow on my lap, stretched out across the seats, and I helped her cover herself with her blanket. I put my arm around her, and within a few minutes, we were both asleep.

June 9, 1985, Amsterdam, the Netherlands

“How long will you be in the Netherlands, Mr. Loucks?” the Passport Control Officer asked.

“Four days,” I replied.

“And your next destination?”

“Paris.”

“Eurail pass?”

“The backpack gave it away?”

“Yes. Loucks is a Dutch name, isn’t it?”

“My father’s family was in Manhattan from the days of Peter Stuyvesant, the last Director-General of New Amsterdam. That was in 1660 or so.”

He stamped my passport and said, “Welcome to the Netherlands, Mr. Loucks.”

“Thank you.”

I stepped past and waited for Elizaveta. She handed over her passport, and went through a similar conversation.

“Good morning, Miss Kozlov. How long will you be in the Netherlands?”

“Four days. I’m traveling with my friends.”

“Paris next?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He stamped her passport and she stepped through. We waited while the other four went through the same process, then all four of us went through Customs without any trouble.

“I don’t like being Miss Kozlov!” Elizaveta complained.

“I know, but that’s the name in your passport and we didn’t have time to get it changed.”

“Why not just say we’re married and show the papers?”

“Because of what happened at the Bank and the BMV. The last thing we needed was anything to go wrong. And I certainly haven’t forgotten that you’re Mrs. Loucks!”

“You better not!” Elizaveta said fiercely.

“Just kiss her!” Clarissa ordered. “Then we can exchange money and find the train to the city!”

“Not a bad idea,” I replied.

Elizaveta and I exchanged a soft kiss, then followed Clarissa and Abby towards Schiphol Plaza where the train platform was located. We stopped at a currency exchange and I handed over dollars and received back Dutch guilders in return. Once the others had exchanged money, we continued to the train platform. Once we found it, we read the signs, helpfully posted in both Dutch and English, then went to the ticket counter to purchase tickets for the train to Amsterdam’s Centraal Station. According to the display, the next train departed in ten minutes, and according to the guide book, the trip took about twenty minutes. We made our way to the platform, boarded the waiting train, found seats, and sat down.

“According to the guidebook and my map,” Abby said, “it’s about 600 meters from the station to the hostel.”

“That’s roughly a third of a mile,” I offered. “I seriously wish Ohio hadn’t backed off changing to the metric system in the 70s!”

“But it was a ‘Communist plot’, don’t you know!” Abby said disdainfully.

I shook my head, “Because, of course, the Russians couldn’t do the simple math of 1.6 kilometers equal one mile or five miles being eight kilometers. Emmy’s dad was one of the rabble-rousers who were spouting that nonsense, so all we ended up with is ‘two liters’ for soda and 750ml alcohol bottles instead of a fifth of an Imperial gallon. And they took down the highway signs they’d put up.”

“That’s the racist guy, right?” Abby asked.

“Yes, among his other anti-social ideas and behaviors.”

“How far is it from the hostel to Anne Frank’s house?” Pete asked.

“Looks like about 1.5 kilometers, so roughly a mile,” Abby said, looking at the map.

“We should find a coffee shop,” Pete said.

“I don’t THINK so!” Clarissa said, laughing. “In the Netherlands, a «coffeeshop» is where you go to buy and smoke weed! So unless you plan to get high, I think a café is more appropriate.”

“It’s legal to smoke pot here?” Elizaveta asked.

“Sort of,” Abby replied. “It’s illegal, but there are no punishments. Kind of like what Ohio did when they decriminalized pot for people over eighteen. It’s a ticket, but you really only get one back home if you’re blowing smoke in a cop’s face or they want to give you a rough time for some reason.”

“It’ll get you kicked out of Taft or the medical school,” Sandy said. “Even a single joint.”

“It’s still against Federal law, according to Melody,” I added. “So technically the FBI or the ATF could arrest you and charge you. But they don’t bother, mostly, for people with personal use amounts.”

“How about if we just check one out without actually partaking?” Pete said. “You know, just to see.”

“Which is going to be his argument for the ‘Red Light’ district,” Sandy said with a smirk.

“‘Red Light’ district?” Elizaveta asked.

“Where the prostitutes work! They actually put on lingerie and stand in the windows to attract customers.”

“No way!” Elizaveta gasped. “That’s legal?!”

“Sort of,” Abby said. “I think it’s technically illegal, but it’s tolerated.”

“But it’s in public?” Elizaveta asked.

“Yes. «De Wallen», which is the best known ‘Red Light’ district is a five-minute walk from the hostel.”

“This is where I expect some kind of piggish comment from Petrovich,” Clarissa smirked.

“I believe he has a muzzle sitting in the seat next to him,” Sandy teased.

“She does keep my mouth full at times,” I said with a smirk.

“Mike!” Elizaveta scolded.

“Right on cue!” Sandy said gleefully.

“But I was talking about your cooking, Kitten,” I said piously.

“And, incidentally, that kitten was...” Clarissa started.

“STOP!” I commanded, but I was laughing hard, as were Pete, Sandy, and Abby.

“That dirty album you have, right?” Elizaveta asked.

“I keep it in its dust jacket and use a special brush to remove dust, so it’s very clean,” I replied.

“That is NOT what I meant, husband, and you know it!”

“All kidding aside, we should at least walk through that part of town,” Clarissa said. “Just for the experience. Like checking out a «coffeeshop».”

“And the new «Sexmuseum Amsterdam» which just opened?” Sandy smirked.

“A what?!” Elizaveta gasped again.

“Sex museum. Jeannette told me about it. It just opened this year and has a history of sex, including erotic art, pictures, movies, paintings, and historical artifacts!”

“Somehow I think my new wife wouldn’t be allowed in,” I said.

Clarissa laughed, “Jeannette actually made the point that you only have to be sixteen!”

“What?!” Elizaveta exclaimed in outrage. “I can go to a sex museum here but couldn’t see The Breakfast Club back home?”

“Americans are prudish,” Abby said. “Think about how bad your sex education was in eighth grade. We get girls at the clinic who have no idea how they got pregnant, because, among other things, there are dumb myths like not being able to get pregnant your first time.”

“That sounds like something a boy would say!” Elizaveta replied.

“‘Boys’ say all kinds of things to get girls to have sex,” Abby said.

“Right,” I chuckled. “Because it’s NEVER the girl who initiates it! Which then, by implication, means you and Clarissa have never had sex!”

“Is he ALWAYS like this?” Abby asked.

“Yes!” Sandy and Clarissa exclaimed in unison.

The train arrived at the main station where we got off, then, following the map in the guidebook, found our way to The Globe. When we walked inside, a female clerk at the desk called out a greeting which was recognizable, despite being in Dutch, and we walked over.

“Good morning,” I said with an engaging smile. “We have a room for six reserved beginning today.”

“Name for the reservation, please?”

“Loucks,” I replied.

She flipped through reservation cards and pulled one out.

“Yes, I have it here. You requested early check-in, and you’re fortunate; the room is available immediately, rather than 1:00pm. May I have your passports, please? We keep them while you are in your room, and you may ask for them when you go out by handing over your room keys. I will also need each of you to fill out a guest card, and pay a deposit for each key. The room was paid by wire from your travel agent.”

We’d managed to do that in the Netherlands, Austria, Switzerland, and Germany, but the others we’d have to pay directly. Of course, in Paris, Elizaveta and I had the pre-paid hotel room courtesy of Lara. The clerk put six forms on the counter, and two-by-two, we filled out the registration forms. I saw Elizaveta screw up her face at the instruction to write your name exactly as it appeared on your passport. That wasn’t a surprise, given one of the blanks asked for a passport number. When we’d finished, we each handed the card and passport to the clerk who checked them and then put the passports in a slot in a rack behind her.

“How many keys would you like?” she asked.

We quickly consulted and decided three were enough - one for each couple. The clerk took three keys from the slot below where she’d put our passports, and handed them to us.

“It’s the second room on the right, upstairs,” she said. “There is no lift.”

I knew from watching Monty Python and a few other TV shows from England that a ‘lift’ was an elevator, and nobody else asked, so it was obvious they knew as well. We thanked the clerk and went upstairs to our room, which was modest in size, had three wooden bunk beds, and what the travel agent had referred to as an ‘en suite’ bathroom.

“Bunk beds?!” Elizaveta protested.

“I think you and Mike can manage,” Clarissa observed with a silly grin.

“I don’t know,” I said with a smirk. “They are pretty narrow.”

“Do you want to DIE husband?” Elizaveta asked, hands on hips.

“Not today, that’s for sure!”

“I, uhm, guess we have to dress in the bathroom?”

“You don’t,” I said. “But you can.”

“Wait! You would be naked in front of everyone?”

I shrugged, “I know all of them pretty well and it’s not like we aren’t all adults!”

“I could never!” she protested. “And it’s not right for a deacon!”

“Good thing I’m not a deacon yet!” I replied.

“Seriously? You would change in front of everyone?”

I shrugged, “Pete and I have seen each other in the shower, and we’ve both been in High School locker rooms; Clarissa and Abby are lesbian; you’ve seen me; so that leaves Sandy, and she’s at least seen Pete naked!”

“Maybe we leave the lights off and only do it under the covers!” Sandy teased.

She knew not to give any hint at all that she and I had been together, and all talk of ‘stress relief’ had disappeared shortly after I’d begun courting Elizaveta.

“BORING!” Abby teased. “And Elizaveta, I’m sure you’ve been in the girls’ showers at the High School.”

“It’s me that’s the problem,” Pete said. “I get it. Mike may be comfortable, but I’m sure not.”

“Then it’s simple enough to change in the bathroom,” I said.

I knew what the NEXT complaint was going to be, but I also knew Elizaveta would make it in private - our promise to always sleep naked together, though Mother Nature had required a modification of that agreement to prevent ruining sheets and making a serious mess. And the complaint after THAT one was going to be that we couldn’t have sex. I suppressed a chuckle when I wondered if Elizaveta would make an appeal to Clarissa for some time where Elizaveta and I could be alone together.

“Anyone care which bunk they have?” Pete asked.

There were headshakes all around, so he put his backpack on the bottom bunk nearest the bathroom. I put mine on the one near the window, which left the one closer to the door for Clarissa and Abby. The others deposited their backpacks as well.