27: Amsterdamnnn

Just got back from a wonderful journey that would not end to a place I have been to once before but do not remember much, if at all. Amsterdam is a remarkable place. Though I have never been to Italy, it makes me think of a Venice of the North, with its interwoven waterways and mercantile spirit. The city fluidly embraces both its cultural/religious heritage and (often shocking) social liberalism, all while embodying technological progress.

After a recovery day in Lille, Blaire and I took a train (first thime on Thalys, the main dutch line) to Amsterdam. Built up from a dam on the Aster river, the Dutch capital is a beautiful blend of tradition and modernity. Even the language (which is best described as sounding like German but silly rather than angry) reminded me of the place’s past, as I saw shared roots with English and the key to other Germanic names (Dunkirk = Dun Kerk, Dune Church). Since the train station is at the north end of the city by the water, and our hostel was South of the center in the Museum district (Museumplein), most of our first day was backpacking through Amsterdam’s heart; this process involves frequent near-death-by-bicycle experiences and lots of backpack breaks. We also had the luck to walk through a festival in front of the Royal Palace. How many Dutch monarchs had thrown such parties for commoners over the years? When did the first roller coasters appear, rivaling De Nieuwe Kerk (the new church) for dominance of the square? I pondered these thoughts while munching on an icing-covered waffle–Dutch tradition?–and watching the rides.

We also walked through the sex museum, which was thoroughly disappointing. I had expected a history of sex in world cultures, its unique place in Amsterdam, maybe even some scientific exhibits. In fact it is mostly just profane decorations and a collection of 19th-20th century porn; strangely specific, almost entirely devoid of context, excessively crude, and utterly uninformative. But only a waste of 5 Euros and half an hour.

Much more gratifying was my return to the Bulldog, a bar/restaurant/coffeeshop/gift shop where my friends and I spent a lot of time when we visited junior year of college (due to proximity and convenience–it had everything). As I mentioned, I remember little of my previous trip, but the Bulldog made it in my head–likely due to the sheer amount of memories there. One thing that I forgot, however, was that the Bulldog is on a fun and famous place surrounded by restaurants and bars: Leidseplein. Finally, late in the day, we made it to Museumplein (the museum place), found our hostel, took off our backpacks, and crashed hard.

The next morning we checked out Museumplein. I explored the gorgeous park surrounded by museums first thing in the morning, and meditated in the grass. I would return there several times over the trip in my attempts at daily minfulness practice. The above picture shows the park; our hostel was a block south, in the bottom left corner. The Van Gogh museum is the round building on the left/West edge of the lawn. Above/North of the park is the Rijksmuseum (the Netherlands’ national museum), just past the famous I AMSTERDAM sign and a pool of water. The Van Gogh museum’s line was too long by the time we got there, so Blaire and toured the park, checked out the letters, and explored the Rijksmuseum’s extensive gardens and grounds.
Wielding coupons, we proceeded to march a short distance to the Heineken experience, which I had done before but did not remember. It seemed lacking compared to other Brewery tours I do recall, and it was too early in the day (or we are too old??) to take full advantage of the three included drinks. We then grabbed pancakes with Kate, a good friend of Blaire’s studying in Switzerland, and Jacob, a classmate of hers studying in Dublin who did Theatre with Blaire and me. After this and a mostly forgotten walk through Rembrandtplein, a square and statue in honor of the native painter, we crashed early. Our idea was to wake up early for the Van Gogh museum–but we had no clue just how long a day was in store.

Our getting to Van Gogh early produced tickets for 1:30 PM. With little to do, we departed Museumplein for the center of town, and Blaire met up with Kate while I did some walking and explored. Among my finds was a historic coffee shop called the Dampkring, complete with a famous cat-in-residence. After some rejuvenating coffee, we headed to the Van Gogh museum, and got a great impression of his work. After deciding to push back our train to Lille–how could we leave our northern paradise?–We did some more backpack shopping near the train station. Arriving at the station with plenty of time before departure, I realized that we were not in France, and I could not get tickets on autopilot as I can with the SNCF. Trains to France wouldn’t even come up on the ticket screens, so we waited in the only Assistance line available, and discovered that some international tickets must be bought in a secret room on the other side of the station. We got a number there, waited for service, and finally got to a counter, where we asked to get tickets. After some unnecessary questions and criticism, the woman basically said “well you could’ve made it if I’d given you tickets immediately, but now you won’t make it. And that’s the last train”. So we decided, let’s stay another night! We found an amazing hotel room one block from the train station–right in the center of town, awesome historic (private!) room & bathroom, and almost the same price as our hostel. Not ideal, but pretty close–and at least we didn’t miss a train we’d gotten tickets for!

The next morning, we figured why not take a canal cruise? They leave from right there by the station, and our hotel had coupons. We had to wait half an hour for the cruise, so we checked out St. Nicholas Kerk, an impressive neo-Renaissance Church right across from the station. St. Nicholas is the patron saint of seafarers and the city of Amsterdam, and we watched his Roman Catholic worshippers in service from the back. The cruise itself was fairly disappointing; the guide was amazing (charming in four or five languages!) and it may have been a good first look at the city to identify sites and get bearings, but was otherwise a regret. It did, however, make us realize two things: 1. a canal cruise is no way to end a trip 2. there was a lot of Amsterdam yet to see! So, loving our new hotel and still lacking return tickets, we resolved to stay another night!

After a hearty lunch, we walked towards De Wallen, known in English as the Red Light District. Named “The Walls” in Dutch for the walled canals here near the harbor hundreds of years ago, the English name instead refers to the red lights shined in prostitute-filled windows along the streets (originally to mask the red color of venereal diseases). To enter the district from our direction, you walk on either side of De Oude Kerk, an 800-year-old gothic/renaissance style church originally dedicated to Saint Nicholas but converted to Calvinism during the reformation. The old church, and Oudekerksplein around it, is today ringed by red-lit windows where near-naked women pose as live, self-promoting display stands. We proceeded past the square–a place of ancient history, shifting faith, and commercialized sex–and visited the prostitution museum. Here was everything the Sex Museum had lacked–contextualized experience, historical explanation, and accessible information. The thoughtful exhibits really shed an honest (red, not rosy) light on Amsterdam’s district of vice; I was surprised to learn that the women in the windows are small business women, renting their spots individually, but tough realities such as human trafficking were not hidden from the visitor. Prostitution is a divisive issue even among feminists, but the museum did its best to explore why the world’s oldest profession still thrives in Amsterdam.

After exploring De Wallen, we went to our first Ice Bar! Blaire has always wanted to go, and we had coupons, so we trotted over to Rembrandtplein (“wait a minute… we’ve been here before!”) and got some food in us before our reservation. At the proper time, we arrived and drank our first included drink in a vaguely pirate-themed bar at regular temperatures. We then were shown a very exciting video where a sexy danish buccaneer told us that he would lead us to discover a passage through the northern sea to Cathay. Finally, we were shepherded into a room of ice, where two speculoos-flavored-vodka (Europe, man) shots in ice-cups and a multiple degree drop in body temperature awaited us. Glad I have done the experience, but would have preferred a more extensive ice-establishment… the bar was really just a large and well-decorated icebox.

Our last day, we bought our train tickets first-thing at the station and headed West to explore Jordaan, a highly recommended area to walk around. We checked out Noorderkerk (northern church), a 17-century protestant church built because Jordaan’s other church, the Westerkerk, was too Bourgouis (they share an apparently versatile architect). Then we walked further South through the neighborhood to the Anne Frank House, where the eponymous Jewish girl wrote her diary in hiding from the Nazis before becoming a holocaust victim. Currently operating with reduced capacity (renovations), no tickets had still been on sale while we were in town, so we saw what was available outside and went next door to Pancakes Amsterdam (best pancakes I’ve had in my life), then visited the Westerkerk next door to that. The Western Church, while admittedly bougie, was a fantastic dutch renaissance building with a beautiful interior. I particularly admired a large floral brass candle-holder inspired by the burning bush, accompanied by the Old Testament/Torah and Koranic passages about Moses speaking to Yahweh/God/Allah. All in a row together, the Anne Frank House, Pancake restaurant, and progressive but historical Church kind of summed up Amsterdam.

Before jumping on the train, I stopped into a giftshop to buy some chocolates. I immediately noticed a section of Tulip souvenirs and nicknacks… the Dutch have an interesting relationship with this flower. In the 17th century, the small coastal republic was the world economic and financial leader. This Dutch Golden Age happened to coincide with the tulip’s introduction to the Netherlands. As prices surged for certain choice tulip bulbs, Europe saw its first recorded speculative bubble. In February 1637, when some bulbs were worth ten times higher than a skilled craftworker’s yearly wage, prices collapsed. Almost 400 years later, Tulip Mania as it’s called is a silly historical anecdote that provides fodder for the Amsterdam tourism industry. Since tulips are also Blaire’s favorite flower, I got us a new fridge magnet to remember the trip (blue and green are our favorite colors, can you guess who’s who?).

Walking back to the train station, dodging bicycles as they wizzed by, I saw this advertisement, which also summed up the city: