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Every ten years or so, when I get tired of
Walmart and six-lane highways, I live abroad. This time, I nestled up
in the wee spot of The Netherlands. From that Low Country, Belgium was
a bike ride and Germany a forty-minute train excursion. Thus, it was
time for this American to travel like those bastard Eurailers in search
of the perfect youth hostel. Oslo one day, Cologne the next.Page 1 | Page 2 |
