amsterdam

Royal Dutch Airways was the way to go when traversing Western Europe and had us arriving in Amsterdam at about 10pm. It was really refreshing because the people in Holland all speak English and Marta doesn't, so I was finding myself being the translator and quazi guide right off the bat just to get us into the city-center. We made our airport experience much easier by traveling without check bags. A cheap train from the airport to the center of the chaotic waterland city that is Amsterdam was the first step towards being constantly lost and confused. The second was getting onto a tram from the station in the center of Amsterdam, and heading towards... the center of Amsterdam? To legally use this tram correctly, you get onto the middle of the car, pay for a ticket to a morbidly obese woman inside of a box, get confused, and sit down. The woman you pay does not control the car, she just asks for money. After the tram, we walked found our hostel with reasonable ease, but upon entering, found that reaching our top floor room was of double black diamond difficulty. The stairs were definitely inclined to a point that they were at about a 28 degree angle raised from the floor, were about 6 inches deep, and ascended at a 60 degree angle. Once reaching our penthouse suite, we found it to be a quaint room with an A frame shape, with high ceilings and wooden beams a foot above your head for support. The shower we shared with another 2 person room was big enough to have 4 people standing, and had no windows, but rather some kind of naval, metal wire covered light bulb to shed some light on your private cleaning. We went out for a beer in the plaza. Amsterdam was already amazing, and like nothing I had every seen, felt, or experienced withinin one or two short hours after our arrival.

The night was full of music, boisterous transportation, laughter, and bike bell ringing. Marta and I simultaneously turned to eachother to exclaim our immediate fascination and love for this city, we wanted to move there immediately. After inspecting a few bars and wandering around the highly crowded streets, plazas, sidewalks, bike lanes and bridges, we returned to the tower of power that was our lofty hostel bedroom to charge up for the next day. We awoke to find that the weather consisted of a 4 course meal, elaborately presented with misty rain and cold fronts, grey skies and fog, all of which were downers, but proved not to deter us from ambling about Amsterdams´ highly confusing streets. The weather itself did not necessarily impede our progress as tourists in the Dutch capital, but succeeded in forcing us into random stores, coffee shops, doorways, and monstrous never-ending lines outside of museums. These lines included Dutch coffees for me (a nice blend between American coffee, and something that is ultimately stronger, without espresso), long-winded strings of swear words from Marta, and an ubiquitous damp blanket of north European air. Leidesplein Square, which is full of theatres and bars and was our first sight just after arriving. We visited the Van Gogh museum, and the beautiful gothically disguised super shopping mecca known as the Magna Plaza. Of Amsterdam's apparent 1287 or so bridges, the Magere Brug, or “ Skinny Bridge”- a very old drawbridge in the north eastern part of Amsterdams, was the most interesting and aesthetically pleasing. While the weather was in poor form, the tulip market was still blossoming in the midst of the confused masses. Vondelpark was full of tourists and locals walking their dogs, riding their bikes alongside the innumerous pons and bridges. The red light district opened its windows to me and every other passer-by from inside its' brothels, encased in old warped buildings. Anne Frank's house was more or less an out-of-place modern structure in the middle of the old city, and had a line winding around the block to enter. I took a picture from the outside. An old-fashioned windmill near the harbor loomed above my head like a giant in the Castillian countryside. More or less, every building that we saw was worth staring at. Apparently in the olden days, houses had hanging crane arms with pulleys on their sides, and were used to hoist goods from boats in the canals into the house. Because of the constant movement and need to support this extra weight, the majority of all houses in Amsterdam are twisted and warped, making them look dreamy as well as unstable.

The nightlife we experienced was diverse and entertaining in all aspects. One night we had a beer in a bar on our way to the red light district and the bartender, a decrepit old man who had undoubtedly worked in the bar all his life, decided to give me the incorrect amount of change for our beers. I looked at him confused as to how he could have forgotten 4 euros, and told him the change was incorrect. He looked at me in a quizical manner, turned around, grabbed 1 euro and placed in my hand saying ¨ok, thank you - see you tomorrow¨?¿¿?? Being as how the interaction was incomplete, I asked for the rest of my change 3 more times as he gave me 1 euro at a time each time I asked, saying things like ¨well ok¨ and shrugging as he sloughed over my request and got a 1 euro coin in a sluggish manner. I felt like I was taking crazy pills for the next 10 minutes as none of this made sense. I could not tell if he was joking with me, old and confused, trying to take advantage, or what. Marta had no idea what was happening because everything was managed by me in English, so she didn´t really help me to reach a conclusion. But I did learn the Spanish word - chochear - which means to dodder, or be senile. She thinks he was chocheando. I think he was just getting a kick out of the situation, and was nuts. In the bar Bourbon Street, we had the pleasure of a live samba, soul, funk-esque band played for about 3-4 hours and performed their asses off. The lead singer was a jolly round black man that was both a fantastic singer and entertainer extraordinare. He was dancing on the bar, calling up members from the crowd to dance, sweating like a farm animal, and taking the show away all night long.

Another evening, I decided to step outside for a cigarette, alone, and asked a few nearby bike riders where I could get a good beer before calling it a night. They told me the local bar they frequented was in their sights so I decided to put it in mine as well. After about 37 seconds of speaking with these two men, , I began to believe that they had to both be local gays. One, Bert, was a gigantic man probably in his late 40's a, and the other, a short, clean shaved, spiked hair, stand out flamer. On top of this, after about 15 minutes to the "local" bar, I accepted that it was perhaps only local because it was within the widely expansive city of Amsterdam. Finally entering the bar, it was then clearly evident that this was some old-dude gay bar. All worries aside, I enjoyed the ridiculous company of a man with 1 eye, the spiked hair dude who tried to hit on me, and Bert, the older chilled out local entrepreneur. After a couple of free beers, I decided to make my exit and walk a quick 364 kilometers back to the hostel, climb into bed, and consider how ludicrous this situation had been.

As I've mentioned, the streets in Amsterdam are highly confusing and in the center are long canal streets that form a "U" around the large middle island of Centrum. These streets mostly like the same, have 2 sides due to the canals, and successfully sent me walking in the wrong direction every day. Food was quite varietal and tasty all throughout the trip, as Italian, Asian, Dutch, and many other international cuisines could be found around the city. It was so refreshing to be in another country, and be able to speak English comfortably the entire time to people that weren't even native English speakers. All of the Dutch people that I saw and met were very  helpful and kind also. My only complaint is that I was not there long enough, and the weather was not at its best.
A return trip will be necessary.

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