We are floating down the Rhine on our way to Cologne (Koln),
our arrival having been delayed by half an hour by forces unknown, to us at
least. So I guess it is time to begin an
exploration of our adventures to date.
This is my third time in Amsterdam in the last 45 years and each trip
has been something unique. My first
time, I was on my own, staying in hostels and hitch hiking across Europe doing
the “Grand Tour”. The food was odd, not
nearly so many people spoke English and it poured down rain. My most outstanding memories; the first, the hostel
was co-ed, just a room full of bunk beds, a communal kitchen, and you had to
leave the premises between 9 a.m. and 5 p.m.
While the second is watching Fellini’s Satyr icon in Italian with Dutch
subtitles because it was raining so hard and there was nowhere to go to get out
of the wet.
My second time in Amsterdam we stayed in a funky canal barge
on the edge of the city center. It would
have been a flower child’s dream, lava lamps, bean bag chairs and macramé plant
hangers. We explored the Red Light
District, ate Gouda Cheese and walked for miles dodging bicyclists. I guess I
must have aged somewhat. I haven’t quite
fallen in to my dotage, but the creature comforts have more appeal with each
passing year. This time out it is a
midrange hotel near the museum district, an easy walk to public transport, with
breakfast included. That said,
Amsterdam is still a fascinating city and I have yet to leave the inner
core to explore the suburbs.
They say there are as many bicycles in the Netherlands, (aka
the Low Countries, aka Holland and not to be mixed up with Belgium) as there
are people and I do not doubt this in the least. There are dedicated bike lanes that run
between the car lanes and the sidewalk with their own traffic signals and
protocols. Do not walk in the bike lane,
they will yell abuse at you and ring their bells in the most insistent and
uncompromising manner. If you feel a
second class citizen when competing with vehicular traffic, Amsterdam’s bike
lanes will truly make you feel powerless.
You see grandmas peddling home with their groceries, women in high heels
and skirts on their way to work, businessmen in suits, young mothers with
children variously strapped to them, riding in a basket at the front or perched
front and/or rear on their individual seats.
One afternoon it began to rain, the only perceivable difference in
behavior, a proliferation of waterproof ponchos.
Travel, it is all about expectations. You build up an image of what it is you are
going to see and do. How it is going to
smell, the cool breezes, the sunny skies the great works of art you will view
and then there is the reality. Reality,
may not be as poetic as your expectations, but often times it is so much
better. Riding canal boats in the rain
without one useful picture to show for your efforts is much more memorable than
dozens of images that look exactly like everyone elses. The memory of Gypsy soup that consisted of
three mushrooms in a bowl of unidentifiable red broth and roast beef sandwiches
that chewed as though they were made from the outside of the cow will remain
far longer than the extravagant dinner of basil ceviche and fish cakes at the
upscale fish bar.
I could give you the blow by bow of what we saw and where we went but instead I shall share a few more observations and finish of with more pictures. Have you ever considered what it might take to repair a road that is probably no more than 12 feet wide with four story houses on one side and a canal on the other . . .
Did you notice, the building supplies are on a barge in the canal?
I reckon most of you have heard my story about needing to have a penny to use the toilet on New Street Station in Birmigham. We seem to have set a new record 1 Euro ($1.10 appx) in Amsterdam.
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I have an internet connection, so am going to post this now, More to come.
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