Europe, In Fragments. 1

I am an extremely fortunate, well-traveled girl. As I am approaching my fifth trip to Europe, it occurs to me, as it seems to often these days, that my memory is insubstantial at best.
I have a hard time remembering stories of places I've traveled, or best friends' favorite restaurants, or even arguments I've had with people. I worry that my brain is deteriorating at an abnormal rate, but I also worry that it could be because I'm not a very good listener.

On this upcoming itinerary, I am traveling to Amsterdam, Paris, and Ghent in Belgium. For the former of those three cities, this will be my third trip each.

These are my memories of those places from before.

Amsterdam, 1:
I was 12; it was December. I spent most of the afternoon sleeping, finally understanding the concept of jet lag.
On our way from the hotel to the train station, a homeless man asked us for money. He proceeded to follow us several blocks, my theory is still that he did it because my father was so frustrated by him. I don't remember if my dad gave him money or not.
We went to find somewhere to eat, and I was amazed that people we asked spoke English. We ate Chinese food for Christmas dinner.
The Van Gogh museum was huge, and in my mind it's is the same museum as the Design Hall of the Denver art museum. My mom was so excited to be there, and it's funny to me now that Impressionism and post-Impressionism are my favorite artistic periods, just like they are hers.

Paris, 1: Still 12, still December. Our hotel was tall and skinny. We stayed in a different room from my parents. My brother and I giggled most of the night, and I still remember him saying boys could pee without turning on the lights because they peed in neon. I remember being happy that Ian was my best friend.
We went to the Eiffel Tower, looked up at it, but did not ride up. I thought I would be scared, like it was a roller coaster. We ate a Greek restaurant down the street, and I considered myself more worldly because of it.
The Louvre was gigantic, and we ate at the cafeteria. The Mona Lisa was small, but impeccable. And beautiful.
I couldn't eat enough croissants with jam (and I considered myself more worldly for that, too).

Gelato is worldly too.  And I do love my gelato.