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Friday, Oct 11, 2002
"Sodom and Gomorrah having been destroyed, we elected to visit Amsterdam instead."
Amsterdam was the location for our next big adventure. Sure, it's primarily known to most for two certain aspects of it. But surely, the city must have much more to offer visitors, right? Let's hope so. One key factor during this vacation is that we were heading into this country not having a place to stay. Yeah, you read that correctly. Smart people are we (not).
After our last trip, we compiled a list. It was titled: lessons learned. The list contained important things like: buying film ahead of time, taking a good map along, and the biggest note was to ensure having a reservation made for somewhere to spend the night.
Well, our lesson must have been too short, because this didn't happen. Technically, we broke our other two rules as well since we didn't have a very good map and one of us did have to buy film at the airport. Still, we're only focusing on our one broken rule at a time. And we had no place to rest our soon-to-be-weary heads.
And now, Maestro, if you please, from the top ...
Friday October 11, 2002 -- Home in England
Having set two alarms didn't prevent the nightmares from coming. At 3:30am, I was dreaming of missing my alarm and subsequently the flight too. At 4:30am, the alarm did go off, and I began the day. Well prepared was I during the morning. I was taking no chances on being late for the train. At 5:15, I was out the door and racing down the street to get to the Tube on time.
Surprise number one was that the Tube was running 10 minutes behind. Drat! This was not good for business, theirs or mine. After numerous close calls at different transfer stations, I arrived at Paddington station 15 minutes late. I was later chastised for this since I had been the one to stand upon the soapbox the night before and preach for us all to be on time. Seriously though, it wasn't my fault at all. You have to agree with that. Right? A little maybe?
The next thing we did was take the express train to the airport. The "express train" is a train that zips straight from the Paddington station right into the Heathrow terminal without making any stops along the way. And when you have a 7:45am plane to catch, this becomes an important thing. Doing this costs 13 pounds ($20) though. No discounts are given. They don't care if one is a student or an ambassador. Everyone pays 13 pounds. (Okay, I'm guessing at the ambassador thing. They probably pay 10 pounds. There were no ambassadors around to ask.)
Taking the Express is rather nice touch. It's fast and comfortable. It even has a TV showing news items and the life of tigers and prairie dogs. The tigers are shown in a good light though. They aren't biting off anyone's arm or anything wild like that. If nothing else, that part of the trip went smoothly.
At the airport, we roamed around for a while until an announcement said we only had five minutes left to board the plane. I was in a slow-moving line to buy a multi-pack of tiny vodka bottles. I quickly set it down and left the store. We then raced for the gate, though I wasn't worried. I'm always reading that airlines delay flights when they discover a person's bags are on the plane, but the person is not. It's a safety thing, and I strongly agree with it. But I also worry that if I was too late, that the plane would leave, and I would find my bags lying on the runway with a little note attached saying, "Buy new socks." So, we continued to run. Soon, we boarded the plane and relaxed.
It would take me more time to write about the plane flight than the time of the actual flight. To summarize: we took off, moved a little and then landed. It was a very quick hop.
In Amsterdam, we entered the airport and our fun began. (Although, it can only be called fun if you consider walking around and waiting in lines for over an hour fun.) And yeah, I had fun doing that. I wasn't expecting a smooth start. None of us did enough homework for the trip. So we all were willing to take our lumps. The girls were quite resourceful though and soon enough, we had train tickets in hand. Now all we had to do is learn to speak Dutch.
A train took us to the Amsterdam Central Station. We boarded a tram from there and entered the heart of the city. The metro system does not exist there, but the trams work quite well. They are difficult to figure out. That would have hurt us, except for the fact that all of the people we met were very nice and willing to help us out with smiles on their faces.
We walked around for a short time before reaching our Hostel -- er, "hotel without the S." Let me explain. Our place was a, and I quote, Hotel. It used to be a hostel, but not anymore. It's now called a "hotel." A hotel is purportedly nicer than a hostel. So what changed during their climb up the lodging ladder? Not much would be my guess. This place had "I'm a hostel without the ‘s' written all over it. But it was only 27 euros and we needed a place to sleep. Yeah, it smelled funny. But how bad could the room be?
The room was bad. It wasn't horrendous or anything. Live snakes weren't slithering across the floor. The toilets didn't backwash blood from a previous night's murder. But it wasn't the Holland Hilton either. We had just gotten used to a good level of quality from the Mige in Paris. This place was a step or two (perhaps two flights of steps?) down from that. A soda stain gave color to one wall. Possibly to keep a balance in the décor, a stained mattress countered on the other side. Yet, we did have a bathroom and shower. And this one included a door! I imagine doors are added as part of the magic hotelization process. (That's my own invented word. No, it doesn't exist in the dictionary. I made it up during a Monopoly game many years ago.)
After getting situated in the "ho(s)tel," we scoured the city. If I were told to describe Amsterdam in one word, I would say "Cold." It was a bone chilling cold. Heck, I think even a penguin on holiday in Amsterdam would cry out "Augh! Why is this place so damn cold?!" However, my quote was different. As I told Kalaine after an hour out in that freezing weather, "Just dig a hole and bury me now...cause I'm already dead."
It wasn't all bad. The sun was (ineffectively) shining, so I was able to snap some good photos of the streets and canals. We walked for over an hour to finally settle down in a restaurant that our guidebook had recommended. I believe the name of the place was Café De Prins. And it was listed for good reason. The food was excellent and reasonably priced (okay, what do I consider a "great" price? Simple. It's when they charge nothing for the food. And before you leave they say, "Thanks for eating our food. Here's $10 for your troubles." But that doesn't seem to ever happen). I must note that I was only able to ascertain this information by sampling food from the others and invoking their opinions. After all, you can't get a grasp of the quality of a restaurant from just a cappuccino and grilled cheese sandwich. Believe me, I've tried.
We returned to the arctic streets after lunch. One thing that really caught my eye was the huge numbers of bicycles on the roads. I would guess that the bikes outnumber the cars by a long shot. There were bike lanes only for bikes. And intersections had traffic signals that had pictures of red and green bicycles that indicated when to stop and go. A most peculiar thing was the style of the bikes. They all seemed to have a 1950's look to them. I saw no new shiny Shwinn ten speeds or anything like that. No, every bike I saw looked like a prop from the past. I would guess that Amsterdam either makes good use of bikes made decades ago, or that they manufacture new bikes using the same factories from a time gone by. Needless to say, it's a very impressive sight. Many a city could learn a lot about clean (albeit chilly) air and exercise from these people.
Trotting onward, we took brief refuge in a small soap shop. This place sold nothing but soap. There were many bright and colorful varieties of soap to choose from. What made the place special though wasn't the look of the soap, but the smell. The pleasant aroma of hundreds of soaps filled the entire shop and even led out into the street. Basically, we only went in there for the smell.
Finally, we arrived at the Anne Frank House. It's one place that no tourist in Amsterdam should miss. Before entering, I knew close to nothing of Anne Frank and her world renowned diary. When I left, I was deeply moved. The moment this movement started was when I glanced upon one of the walls. On the wall was written the dates of the lives of the people who had lived there. Under Anne's name was simply this: 1929-1945. A quick calculation in my head told me she lived 16 years and no more. At first I thought I had misread the dates. That didn't seem correct. In the little I knew about her, I guess I had always pictured Anne Frank as this older woman who had something to do with World War II. Alas, she was nowhere near old when she died. Her legacy was built in just a few short years of life. Wow. That was truly amazing. Amazing and sad. It was another strong, sobering reminder of just how awful the tragedies of that war were. The house showed where they slept, ate, and somehow lived until being captured by the Nazis (Anne would later die in a Nazi concentration camp). To miss this house would be closing one's eyes to one of the illuminating dark spots in history.
When we left the house, we headed north. Surprisingly enough, we ran into a few classmates from schools that were also checking out Amsterdam. They alarmed us with the news of how dangerous the Red Light District was at night. Oh, great. Now, I'd have to be cold and on extra guard. Nevertheless, we headed north. To make things worse, the sun was now leaving us. (We didn't care. It hadn't been doing that great of a job anyway.)
Don't go around tonight
It's bound to take your life
There's a bad moon on the rise.
- Creedence Clearwater Revival
The Red Light District
Years ago, the government of Amsterdam abandoned any hope to try and combat against prostitution and drug abuse. The result led to government-tolerant prostitution and legal drug use inside a certain section of the city. This area is called the Red Light District. Yes, it does have many red lights spread throughout. I've read different reports regarding the drug policy. Some say it's legal to smoke marijuana, others say it's technically not legal, but it isn't prosecuted. Other reports say even hallucinogenic mushrooms are even legal to buy and sell. Either way, since prostitution and "coffeehouses" are not my cup of tea, the laws in that area are irrelevant. I drink coffee, drink alcohol, and have a cigar on occasion. So I've got all the vices I can handle, thank you very much.
Regardless, the group was walking through the District, and if I wanted to become a writer, I would certainly need things to write about. And sure, I was quite curious what this little part of the world was like.
After reaching a few of the "main" streets, I gathered some thoughts. For starters, the place wasn't at all what I had envisioned it to be. It wasn't any better or worse, just different. Most shocking was the unfettered pornography. It was no longer behind closed doors but right there for the world to see. And it wasn't PG or R rated. This was full blown X-rated pornography. It could be avoided though if one looked straight ahead or towards the ground. But with the growing crowd of people, even doing this could be difficult.
The "girls for rent" were there as well. They weren't nude. At least not in the areas we were walking in. The women would mainly be in lingerie walking about a living room or bedroom with the curtains open. None of them looked too excited to be there, or to be in this sort of lifestyle. They had looks of abandonment, like they would be doing this for the best part of their lives--until growing too old to solicit a sale.
Kalaine and I didn't enter any of the "establishments," so I cannot say what the drug situation was like. I assumed that even second-hand pot smoke from a busy coffeehouse (the name for a marijuana café) would get a nonsmoker stoned as well. The aroma of marijuana did lightly permeate into the streets, bu the winds and moisture from the canals kept the smell down.
After some time, the temperature dropped even lower. It was then just too cold to be outside on the streets. Besides that, Kalaine was sick and needed food and rest. We said goodbye to Mulana and Raquel for the evening. They continued to explore. We headed out of the District.
Finding refuge wasn't easy. We both decided that the Red Light District probably wasn't going to have the best dining opportunities so we ventured north a ways. In short time, we were out of that area. The crowds were mainly going the other direction though. Most were heading into the district. Safety wise, we did have any troubles. I had several people approach me inquire as to whether I wanted to buy any drugs. It was a strange thing. I've always been accustomed to that type of action being a criminal act. Here, they weren't committing any crimes. It was just as if they were saying, "Hey, wanna purchase a few tickets to the 49er game tonight?" The vendors weren't even angry or confrontational when I declined their offers. Some even consider marijuana users to be far less violent on average than alcohol abusers. Nevertheless, I didn't have a VISA, and the district wasn't "everywhere I wanted to be."
At this point, Kalaine's cold was pretty bad and she was desperate for some kind of cold medication. Nowhere could this be found. I pointed out how ironic it was that a city could sell you a nearly endless supply of drugs that were bad for you, but no store around offered drugs that could help you. (Again, honestly, I don't know the full ramifications and effects of cannabis smoking, and if indeed it is any more or less harmful than a few shots of gin, but still, I have to remain opinionated or my sarcastic ironies don't work as well...if they work at all.)
Having found no Nyquil or Sudafed, or even a blasted aspirin, we decided to eat at a restaurant called Ristorante Pizzeria. The food wasn't bad. It wasn't great either. I found my spaghetti to be filling though. It just didn't have a strong taste to it. Maybe it's a European thing. Even then, I can't be sure of that since I believe the restaurant is part of a chain. I still today remain quite clueless to what "English" food tastes like. I've had a few small meals here and there, but I do tend to eat out a lot, and it's hard to gauge what English food tastes like when you're dining in a Japanese restaurant half the time.
We took our time at dinner. There was no rush to return to the cold and windy night. But finally, it was time to go. We left our cozy little restaurant and felt the chilling breeze once again do its best to swipe any remaining heat from our bodies. We journeyed into Centraal (Dutch spelling) Train Station to figure out train times for the next night's ride to the airport. When that was done, we decided to take the tram back to the Ho(s)tel. Not knowing what street was near ours didn't prove to be very handy. More walking was the result of that. We did manage to see more of the city at night whether we wanted to or not. In time, we reached our place and went inside for the night.
I allowed Kalaine to shower first. During this time, I wrote some notes about how bad I thought part of this town could be. I later chose not to post those writings. I'll explain why later. When Kalaine finished showering, it was my turn. A hot shower was just what I needed. And that's just what I got. Well, it was hot and then cold. Then cold and then hot. Then it was way too hot! And then it was freezing cold! Argh!
Yes, the shower had problems. At first I wondered who was the engineer that designed those crummy showers. But I soon realized it probably wasn't an engineer at all. The showers were probably designed by the receptionist to keep busy during the slower hours. These showers had several problems:
Problem One: The floor -- with no divider between the shower area and the rest of the bathroom, you get to gleefully shout, "Oh joy!" as the entire bathroom floor fills with water from the shower. Yeah. It's the good ol' slip and slide when you later brush your teeth. And who says brushing isn't any fun? I finally sacrificed my towel to be the barrier dividing the shower and bathroom area.
Problem Two: The nozzle -- I'm guessing that many basketball players from around the world choose this ho(s)tel to accompany their visits to Amsterdam. What else could explain the reason in putting the shower nozzle 8 feet up in the air? I shouldn't be concerned with this issue since I don't pay the heating bill, but much of the water's heat is lost in that extra two feet of traveling distance. This results in guests using hotter water, which increases heating bills.
Problem Three: Those crazy knobs -- the dual knobs for hot and cold were a nightmare to effectively control. And I never did get them just right. Maybe it's just a secret combination to get the water to come out at a consistent temperature. No matter what I did, the water always went to extremes. I finally just gave up and left it on "too hot." To be able to bear the heat, I just used the "heat loss theory" from problem Number Two. I simply kneeled down to put more distance between the nozzle and me. This worked for a while, but soon it became too hot again. I then had to sit down on the shower floor to be able to withstand the heat. Hotel? No. Hotels use engineers or architects to design showers. Then again, an engineer may have designed it during a trip to the "coffeshop" when Alice was 10 feet tall. Or, to be fair, maybe it was designed during visit to a pub. Whichever the case, there I was sitting on the floor of the shower, nearly eight feet away from the nozzle, and watching the bathroom floor fill up with water to slip on at a later point in time. However I wasn't unhappy, for I was warm.
We were at a "hostel." Case closed.
Before nodding off to bed, Raquel and Mulana came back. They had some adventurous stories to tell. I listened to them and was amazed at what goes on out there in certain part of town. Quite amazed.
Saturday, October 12, 2002
We started our day off by going downstairs for the free breakfast. Over many of the food items were price tags. That didn't make sense. Why would a "free breakfast" need price tags? Perhaps it was a reminder of how much we "could" have paid had we not stayed at this fine establishment. We inquired about the price tags. Turns out that some of the free breakfast were free, but guests had to buy the other stuff. Hmmm. Well, the bread was free and a hard-boiled egg. A cup of coffee was also complimentary. So breakfast was essentially just bread and jam. Mmmm. Good. Or so I tried to tell myself.
After checking out, we began walking. A lot of time was now being spent finding lodging for the next night. The Hans Brinkler Hostel (I'm replacing the ‘s'. It belongs there) just wouldn't do. It wasn't easy to find another place. But after an hour or two, we arrived at the City of Amsterdam Hostel. This place didn't aspire to be what it wasn't. They accepted the fact that they were a hostel. I admired them already.
The place was full, but they put us on a waiting list. We then headed out to see the Van Gogh Museum. The Van Gogh Museum has much to offer. So many of his paintings are displayed there. An audio pack is available for learning about his life and works. It's a remarkable place, and something everyone should see...well...provided you like Van Gogh's style of work. Yeah, Houston, slight problem here. I never cared much for that type of painting. Sure, it's clever and "deep" and yadda, yadda, yadda (just insert your art appreciation words of choice). Frankly, it doesn't work for me. Maybe the stories behind the paintings enhance the works. (He painted this piece BEFORE brushing his teeth. Ooh. Ahh.) The place is nice; the paintings are dull. But if you like his work, visit the place. If you like his best work, don't visit the place cause THOSE paintings aren't there. His most famous stuff was in New York. I guess they're on tour. This fact really disappointed Kalaine because she was mainly interested in those paintings. The others didn't seem to mind. Me? I was just in a daze and wondered where all the cool paintings were. Paintings with ships doing battle on the high seas. Cannons firing. Smoke and fire filling the dusky evening. Yes. Those are the paintings for me.
After our museum experience finished, we returned to the hostel to reserve rooms. Kalaine and I just went along for the ride, since we were planning to be up all night because of our early flight. After securing the room, we traveled down to the Heineken brewery. Actually, it's an ex-brewery. They don't brew anything there anymore. Now, it's simply a beer museum. Well, that's what it's called. Really, it's just a "cultural" excuse to go out and drink free beer.
It's sort of free beer. You pay 7.50 euros to get in. they give you a card which has coupons for three free beers. And along the way, there are places to redeem those coupons. Sure, there are things to see and read, but they only slow you down on your quest for free beer. It was an interesting experience. But we arrived around 5pm, and they closed around 6pm. So we only had an hour to explore the place.
Towards the end, they ushered us along the path so we could reach the end of the tour --- where you'd get your last two free beers. I rather enjoyed the whole experience and got my picture taken of me pouring a beer. Maybe I should open a pub. I now have the experience and the knowledge. It's rather simple. You get some grain, and just brew it into beer. As you can see, I learned a lot there.
Upon exiting the brewery, we made our way to the Hard Rock Café. The food there turned out to be rather good. I had a breaded chicken sandwich and fries. Well, actually I guess I'm supposed to call them chips now (In England that is. Not sure about Holland). You see Brits call French fries chips. Why? I haven't a clue. I imagine it has something to do with them not caring for France too much. That's all fine and dandy. But they soon realized they had a problem -- what would they call chips now that they stole the original word to spite France? Easy enough. They would call chips crisps. Makes sense, they are rather crispy pieces of food. So there you have it. Fries are chips and chips are crisps. We'll deal with the problem of French toast when we come to it.
We went back to the hostel after dinner. Once there, we hung out at the café bar until around 12am. At that point, we grabbed our bags and headed down to the Central Station. Raquel and Mulana escorted us down there. After which, they would return to the city for more entertainment. One note about town. I had read that with all the pubs everywhere, Amsterdam had a small problem with people urinating in on every street corner building. They addressed this problem by adding port-a-potties all over the place. But the problem must have mainly been with the men, for the port-a-potties were a male only version. They were simply a plastic piece with four standing toilets in the middle. There were no doors for privacy and only tiny walls. It was just a recreation of what an outhouse would have been.
Buying our tickets was a snap. We then headed for the train platform and waited for the train. The night was cold but we were prepared. Plus, we knew the train would be quite comfortable. The train arrived and we boarded. Kalaine drifted in and out of sleep while I kept awake to make sure we exited at the right station. Soon, a station came by that had a sign an airport icon on it. However, the name didn't look right (in retrospect, it was Dutch. How right could it possibly look?) So we stayed on the train and kept going. We chose poorly. About a half hour later, we were many miles away from the airport that we had neglected to get off at.
Our next step was to speak with someone at the station. As usual, he was another friendly Dutch person and helped us out. We would just have to catch the next train going the other way. Great. But that train would not arrive for another hour. Bad. Now, we were stuck at some station called Del Haag. I have no idea where on earth Del Haag is, but that didn't change the fact that we were there. And it was 1:30 in the morning. Kalaine had a strong memory of an odd old lady who was constantly yelling at the workers at the train station. I saw her doing this, but didn't think much of it. I would guess it was because Kalaine was drifting in and out of sleep. She would wake up, see old lady yelling, and fall back asleep again. Repeat this event a few times in your mind and anyone would remember it well.
My memories were more of vagrants pandering for money. I usually prefer to give my money to charities or churches and not directly to the beggars. This way, I can be better sure that the money won't go towards booze or cigarettes. Well, this vagrant came up and said something in Dutch. I said nothing. He then spoke in English and asked for money for food. I then responded in French saying something along the lines of "Do you speak French?" I wasn't being mean. I really did want to practice my French. But he did speak a little French because he responded in French. Apparently, this guy was trilingual or at least knew how to ask for money in several different languages. Probably not a bad skill for the trade. I said nothing after that. I didn't want to find out he knew German too. He then left and went on pandering elsewhere.
Other memories included a riled up dog barking and playing with three men. One held the dog's leash. We were also seated near two large women, one of which could not seem to get her fill of cigarettes. This caused us to need to move to another bench. Nearby us, an Irish soccer team was excited about their recent victory. The kids (probably 16-18) laughed and joked around while one of them carefully rolled a joint, which they soon smoked thereafter. The coach (probably 40-45) joked around with them, but only watched them smoke. What a guy.
One interesting snippet was watching a few of the recent panhandlers come walking by (including the multilingual one) eating some Burger King food. One of them had a coke in one hand, a cigarette in the other.
Finally our train pulled in and we left on it. This time we knew exactly where to get off. When we reached the airport, it was around 3am. The plane wouldn't leave until 7am. More time to kill. Killing that much time would prove to be very difficult. I still hadn't slept at all. Somehow, I managed to keep my eyes open until 5am when the British Airways gates opened. We checked in and wandered around a bit. It was helpful to be moving once again. I stopped by a local shop to purchase some Dutch shoes as a gift.
The wait to board would take another hour. Patiently, we sat at the gate. Nearby, a man and woman bickered back and forth. They were a young couple and seemed to have no qualms about airing their dirty laundry for the rest of us to hear. Yet, their conversation was more annoying than interesting. They just went on and on and on. I said that if I were seated near them on the plane, I would probably scream.
When the hour was up, we boarded the plane. I sat down near the window (the couple was nowhere in sight). Before takeoff, I closed my eyes. No longer would I need to fight sleep. It wasn't like I was going to miss our stop in England and awaken in Helsinki. A moment after closing my eyes, I was out solid. I didn't wake up again until right before landing. I even missed the breakfast, but Kalaine made sure I had a meal bag.
We left the airplane and then had to figure out how to get back to London. Our return flight was for Gatwick airport. This meant taking a tram to the train terminal. We then had to buy train tickets to get back to London. From there, we would be required to take the Tube to our final spots. Yeah, traveling home was a challenge in itself.
Being in no real hurry and wanting to save money, we passed on the express train to London. This wasn't a bad choice, but lots more waiting would be required. And it was still very cold outside. After another half hour wait, our train arrived and we traveled to London. Kalaine and I parted at the Tube station to take our own lines home.
During my Tube ride, I tried to stay awake, but it was tough. I'd keep falling back into light sleeps. I needed some serious rest. Finally, I was back to my own neighborhood. A half-mile walk later, and I was home again. After a long hot shower, I hopped into bed. It was now 11am Sunday morning and I would not wake again until 4pm.
In closing, I'd have to say it was a fun trip. While many things may have gone awry, I find that even those kinds of trips can be enjoyable if one chooses to enjoy them. It almost always comes down to choice. As for the city, I give it some credit. It has its dark side, no argument there. But it also has a few good things to offer as well. With so many bicycles, they help keep the air cleaner. They have the Anne Frank house. And there were many things we didn't see either. I would have liked to have photographed the tulips blooming (Ironically, tulips are not indigenous to the Netherlands), but it's the wrong season. I also didn't get to see any windmills. Most of all, I think every single Dutch person we spoke with there was friendly. They learn English for three years of school. So conversation was never a problem.
I would not recommend someone flying out from America JUST to visit Amsterdam, but it's still a good place to visit during a European vacation. Plus, the Red Light District is marked off on the map. And if you start getting too close to that area, you'll know. Don't bother asking me how you'll know. Trust me, you'll know.