Farewell, Amsterdam!

Goededag!

My last day in Amsterdam dawned bright and sunny.  It did cloud over later, but my umbrella was not up once!  I didn’t even take it out of my bag.

Since I’m going to be folded into an economy class seat tomorrow for eleven hours, I knew today I needed to stretch my legs. I began with an early walk along the Prinzengracht canal to enjoy the morning light on the water.

When considered what I’m going back to, I then decided I needed green and open spaces. I hopped the bus for the Amsterdamese Bos, a huge park on the outskirts of the city.  It was created as a job providing public works project during the Great Depression and is a large and beautiful open space with plenty of trees and water.  It’s more of a recreational area than a nature reserve.  I could hear the merry sounds of youth camps as I walked. But I did have intense green all around me and lovely woodland walks.  Plenty of paths took me along streams, through lush tunnels of leafy trees, and across flower strewn meadows.  I saw a bunny rabbit.  Ahhhh!

I strolled by a kids’ “Fun Forest”.  Oh wouldn’t I have loved that as a child or teenager!  Young instructors had the kids helmeted and harnessed up.  There were ladders up the tree trunks and swings and bridges between the trees.  A fun forest indeed!

I didn’t discover the bike rental shop until I was leaving, but if you come to Amsterdam and want to get out of the city, this is a great place for a ride and picnic.

I returned and got some ice cream.  The flavors of the day were hazelnut and caramel crème.  Wonderful.  Then I took my last walk around the historic center.  I stopped by the posh department store for squirts of perfume.  I wanted to give Jicky another chance, but on the other hand (literally) I squirted some L’heur bleu, which I thought was more interesting at least on me.

The Museum Karte proved a real bargain for me.  I calculate that it saved me at least 100 Euros—which I spent on ice cream and cheese.  Ahem.

My thinking is that Amsterdam would be a great starter destination for the novice traveler to Europe.  Most people want London or Paris, of course, and I can understand why.  I did those years ago, and they are marvelous places.  Amsterdam is smaller, flatter, and easier to get around by foot or tram or even those pedi cabs.  While it has plenty of fascinating attractions, the city is far smaller than either London or Paris, and I think would be less bewildering for the jet-lagged newcomer. Everyone speaks and is happy to speak English to tourists.  It’s a beautiful and unique place because of the canals and the light on the water.  Some would say because of the coffee shops, too!

I enjoyed being able easily to take day trips out as well.  While I have enjoyed my glimpses and experiences of the Dutch countryside, I will say that lovely as it is, it does not have the heart-wrenching beauty of the rest of Europe.  I think because it is so flat.

This was a successful trip.  Despite some dirty weather, I got to see and do most of what I wanted to see and do.  I had tasty and interesting food and drink.  In fact for my last Amsterdam meal I’m having vlammese frites met mayo und brodje haring (Yes!  I really do like these. This is my third go.) washed down with Westmalle Trippel. Leckker!

I am sorry that this terrific experience is ending.  And so to you, my readers, I appreciate your willingness to share my trip with me.

Dag en Dank U Wel

A View of Delft

Goededag!

The historic center of Delft is charming and very easy for tourists.  I enjoyed the beauty, but I was also there for some hard core history.

“As long as he lived he was the guiding star of a whole brave nation, and when he died the little children cried in the streets.”  Thus the historian John Lathrop Motley summed up the life and death of William the Silent.  Because the self-serving nature of people in power is not exactly a recent phenomenon, it might do us some good to contemplate the nobility and self-sacrifice—even to his life, of the Prince of Orange.  The famed Dutch tolerance owes much and perhaps everything to their leader in the revolt that gained the Dutch Republic its independence.  The Prince insisted their war was about politics and freedom, not religion, and by a miracle at the end of the Sixteenth Century he got Protestants and Roman Catholics to work together most of the time.

William the Silent was murdered in Deft in 1584 at the instigation of Philip II of Spain.  We will visit both the site of his murder and his grave.

Uh, Pil.  I don’t think I’ve ever heard of this guy.  Why was he "Silent”?

It’s a mistranslation actually.  It should be William the Discreet.  He was known for keeping his own counsel in tight spots.

Why “Prince of Orange”?

William inherited the title from a distant cousin.  Orange is the anglicized name of a once-independent principality in the Provence region until it was absorbed by Louis “I’m not greedy I just want the land next to mine” XIV.  It’s just a coincidence that the name is the same word in English as the color and fruit.  Nevertheless, orange is the national color of the Netherlands and the name has much resonance here.

That’s actually more than I wanted to know, but thanks anyway.

I had some rain along with my breakfast, but it actually turned out to be a reasonable day.  Yes, it rained, but it was not cold or windy.  I set out pretty early and had a very pleasant day.

The place I had “lunch” advertised itself as a gelato bar, but I don’t think it was really gelato at all, but Dutch ice cream.  I had butterscotch, and boy could I taste the butter (!) and something called caramel crunch.  Sublimity in a paper cup.

After all these days I had to pay admission to the churches.  They don’t accept the Museum Karte, but one ticket worked for both.  I visited the Old Church first and paid my respects to Vermeer, and then the New Church.  Both are Protestantized gothic.  They are very beautiful but somewhat bare compared to Roman Catholic churches.

The grave and memorial of William the Silent is in the New Church.   A dog lies at the foot of his effigy to symbolize his fidelity to his people.  The epitaph is “Pater patriae.” I cannot think of anyone who deserves it more.

Then I strolled along the canals to the Princeshof.   A former convent, this was William’s home in Delft.  The building is worth visiting just as a preserved historical building, but it has become a shrine to the Prince and a lesson in Dutch History.

One afternoon William the Silent descended a broad staircase in order to receive his people as was his custom.  A man in the crowd stepped out and fired a pistol at nearly point blank range.  The bullets passed through William’s body.  You can see the gouge marks they made in the plaster wall.

As William fell and died his last words were, “God help my poor people!”

Ok.  Enough tragedy.  Let’s go shopping!

The central market of Delft is packed with touristy shops, all flogging the local product.

Yeah, Pil, so we’re wondering.  Why did you buy your Delftware in Amsterdam and not Delft itself since you seem to like the place so much?

Good question!   I did investigate those shops very carefully.  I told myself that if I found some of the traditional blue and white candlesticks that I really liked, I could shell out for them.  But it turns out that the selection and quality of the wares are better in Amsterdam.

A lot of the purported Delftware was not from the “royal” workshops (I checked the hallmarks) and was of inferior quality.  Some was frankly fake.  None of it was as gorgeous as what I’d seen in the Amsterdam shops.

If you Really Need a plate with Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring, get the fake cheapo ones because at least they use a photo of the painting.  The hand-painted versions are truly awful.  One I saw made her look like she’d been patronizing a coffee shop, if you know what I mean.

Dag.

A Shopping Day

Goededag!

So it figures.  Monday when everything is closed up tight began with brilliant sunshine and warm temperatures.  When you are traveling you just have to work with what you get when you get it.  It soon clouded over, and I put my umbrella up a couple of times, but it was not cold and actually turned sultry in the afternoon.

As I have just three more days here, I scheduled this day for shopping. While I enjoy licking windows and poking around in stores I don’t actually like shopping for things.

I started out by walking down Princesgracht toward the hot shopping zone, but I got distracted by a huge street market.  The Nordmarket went on forever.  It’s not a tourist market although some tourists were there.  I was.  Mostly clothes and cloth was for sale, but also a lot of shoes and other household items. One stand had spectacles although I can’t imagine buying actual glasses from a market. There were also flea market items.  I saw things I and my friends would like, but the stuff was not packable.  I did get lucky and found a birthday gift for a non-blog reading friend.

By this time my morning tea had caught up with me.  I wasn’t concerned.  Hadn’t I checked out all the major department stores around the Dam?  I strolled up there to find—late opening Monday!  Uh oh.  I had to go all the way to the Centraal Station.  Then I walked back because the best touristy shops are on the Dam and around the Bloemenmarkt. 

In the midst of this I had some Real Dutch Ice Cream and not gelato this time. Lekker to the max!  I had chocolate with choco bits and spice cookie flavor with ginger and almond.  Both were rich and flavorful and the combination was just right.

I also treated myself to another squirt of Jicky when I went to check out the chocolates in the fancy department store.  It’s nice.  It doesn’t seem as posh and distinctive as it did in Paris.  I can’t imagine why.

I—er—bought myself a present as well.  I went to a fancy Delftware store and put my credit card to work.  I collect candlesticks, so I needed some Delftware.  I did not get the traditional blue and white but instead the polychrome with touches of green and orange as well.  My pair is just gorgeous and comes with a certificate of authenticity.  I also checked the hallmark before deciding.  And, no, I am not going to tell you what I paid for them.  They are hand made and hand painted, so you can probably guess—a lot.

Happiness researchers tell us that buying experiences is better than buying stuff.  I know this is true.  But I like to bring home treats for folks, and I like to be able to look at something and be reminded of my trips.  I don’t like souvenirs that just sit there and take up space, though.  I want something that I can wear or use.

So I walked around a lot and contributed to the Netherlands’ economy, but I can’t make that interesting, so lets have some Q and A.  I will have to provide both, since my readers, except for Sartorias, are shy about commenting.

Ok, Pil, what’s with the beer?  You don’t drink it at home.

The “wine” of the country, mes amies, or rather that of its southern neighbor.  I would drink Belgian beer at home once in a while if it weren’t so expensive.  I don't care for American brews.

Is it true about the Dutch and their . . .?

Bicycles?  Absolutely!  There are almost more bikes than folks in Amsterdam, and the bike trails are so extensive one could and some do tour the whole country on two wheels.

I meant about the coffee shops and drugs.

That, too.  The distinctive odor can even be found on the Dam in front of the palace.  Coffee shops seem to be everywhere, and as far as I can tell they are thriving.

Is Amsterdam a popular destination?

Yes emphatically!  There are a LOT of tourists here, many Americans, but also a lot of Europeans.  Italians seem particularly in evidence.

Speaking of.   Why are you eating pasta?  It’s not Dutch!

Guess again.  Every other restaurant in Amsterdam is Italian.  Pizza and panini are everywhere.  The other popular style is South American Steak Houses.  Pasta is easy and quick.  I’ve needed hot meals, and I wanted to be nicer to my arteries.

Dag!

Stormy Weather in the Hague

Goededag!

It rained when I came home yesterday.  It rained hard all night.  I breakfasted to the sound of pouring rain.  I’m trying hard to stay positive.

I went to Den Haag today—that’s The Hague to you non-Dutch.  The first time I visited the Netherlands long ago, we stayed near the Hague in Scheveningen, and spent days exploring the Hague.  It’s a beautiful, gracious city, not merely the true seat of the Dutch monarchy, but the site of the World Court and many European Union institutions.  I had visions of myself strolling the broad avenues and lovely parks.  Nope.

What I got was driving rain, wind, and cold.  I wish I had brought a jacket, as my cotton sweater has proved inadequate, but the truth is for the past ten years, I haven’t needed more than a sweater.

The adventure started when I went downstairs to get groceries and discovered I was locked in.  Someone shot the extra bolt home.  I eventually figured out how to unlock it, but I had a picture of being trapped until I could call the proprietor to come and liberate me.

By the time I got to the train station, my slacks were already soaked.  I wore the tan slacks, which are made out of some kind of Elvish material that dries off during the train ride.  I had some hopes, since I was going south, that the rain might slack off, but in fact the storminess was worse!

I fought my way against the wind to the historic center.  My first stop was the Mauritshuis.  This elegant eighteenth century mansion belonged to one of the cousins of the Princes of Orange and now holds a world-class art collection.  The problem is that while one waits in line for tickets, one appears on video.  Ugh!  The only reason I recognized myself was my clothes.  It’s one of those cases where one has to keep checking to see if it’s as awful as you thought.  Yes.  It was.

The house, apart from the art, would be worth visiting on its own.  The walls are covered in richly colored silk, and plaster moldings adorn the ceilings. The staircases are broad and grand.

My technique for visiting a museum is to scamper up the stairs as quickly as possible to the top floor while the rest of the tourists mill around below.  As a result I got to the Vermeer room before it was packed.

First to meet my eye was Vermeer’s wonderful View of Delft.  When I showed it to my students, at first some thought it was a photograph rather than a painting, but it is in fact a miracle of the painter’s art and optical illusion.  I was able to examine it from different angles and distances. When I got up close with my little pink nose nearly on the canvas Vermeer’s technique was revealed.  He doesn’t paint objects.  He paints the light on them.

On the opposite wall is the Girl with the Pearl Earring, so popular now and so often reproduced as to have become a cliché.  Yet the painting is marvelous!  Her eyes follow you around the room, and she looks so intelligent and alive.  Also on exhibit is a mythological painting.  Compared to his deceptively simple, genre works, this one while pretty seemed bland to me.

The Mauritshuis holds a collection of Rembrandt’s works that matches that of the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam.  You can also find Rubens, a lot of delightful genre works from the Golden Age, and lovely land and seascapes.  I also enjoyed works by Holbein and Bruegel.  So it was worth it to come.

I emerged into the storm and took a quick look around the Binnenhof or Inner Court where the Estates General or Dutch Parliament meets.  Few of us tourists were around.  I saw one dismal looking tour group splashing through the courtyard.

By that time I was chilled and wet, and I had had enough.  But I was disappointed.  There were other things I wanted to see, but they were too far away to get to in that weather.  Unlike bustling Amsterdam, Den Haag on Sunday is shut down, and the sensible people were at home with their green tea and Kindles.  I sloshed back to the train station.

Sitting on the upper deck on the way home, I was treated to views over the countryside—incredibly green!  I even saw some real windmills working in the midst of open country, so they weren’t part of tourist traps.

I was glad to get home and out of my wet clothes.  I enjoyed a hot meal--more pasta this time with mozzarella and sun-dried tomatoes with some dark Belgian beer to the sound of rain and rain and more rain on my windows.

Dag

It's Not Europe Without a Castle!

 Goededag!

I’m sitting here sipping Duvel in Gelligheid comfort watching the Tour de France final individual time trial while a storm rages outside.  What a great, albeit unexpected, race.

I’m glad to be back in the Jordaan for two reasons. One is that the grocery store is right across the street so I can nip out in the morning for food and drink, stash it, and have it waiting, instead of having to hike out of my way to pick food up on the way home.  The second reason is that I’m much closer to the Centraal Station. As my time grows short, I’ll be taking some bigger trips out.

But today?  A castle!  Because it just isn’t Europe without one!

I was surprised to learn that Amsterdam has a metro system.  I mean with a water table that high why excavate?  But there is a metro.  It is not useful for the historic center.  Trams get the job done, but I intended to take the metro today.  I say intended because when I arrived at the Centraal Station I found that I’d cleverly chosen the starting day of a three month shut down of the line.  The notice in Dutch indicated the substitute bus line they laid on and I quickly found the bus.

Now that last sentence conveys an impression of far greater linguistic talent than I possess.  I know a little German, and Dutch and English have a lot of cognates that are recognizable once one gets used to the use of j as a vowel.  I've been here two and a half weeks and have picked up a few words.  So it’s actually not that hard to read simple notices.  Anyway I just want to say once more how Much I Love The Magic Transport Cards.  Seriously.  They make the traveler’s life so much easier.

I took the bus to Amstel Station where I caught another bus for Muiden.  I was taking a chance on the weather.  There was some light rain, but also large blue patches, so I hoped things would be ok.  It rained off and on all day, but for the most part the rain was light and there was little wind.  When I felt like complaining about the cold I remembered the heat wave in the Midwest and shut myself up.

I got the right stop this time and walked about a kilometer into the town of Muiden on the IJsselmeer.  It’s a small, pretty place, and you can’t miss the castle.  I was there early, so I strolled around.  It was cold and breezy, but the rain held off long enough for me to take a country walk.  I climbed over a style onto a public footpath and enjoyed myself walking along—a canal—what else?--with ducks on one side and a farm on the other.

Muidenslot or Muiden castle dates from the Thirteenth Century and was meant to defend the southern approaches to Amsterdam on the old Zuider Zee.  It was the scene of the murder of Count Floris of Holland by some grumpy barons.  The castle, which has been heavily restored, is just gorgeous.  It was fun to walk along the walls and climb up the towers.  The dark narrow stairs wind up clockwise as usual to put right handed attackers at a disadvantage.  There are a few exhibits, including a good collection of armor and weapons and some activities for kids.  Some older folks (ahem) needed to try out the crossbow (I’m not bad) and pick up the long sword.  Way heavy!  It took real strength to fight with one of those.

Speaking of swords--several groups of young people were out practicing with long swords.  They did not seem to be performers, but just people interested in learning how to use the weapon.

After touring the castle. I took a quick look around the small gardens and then headed out.  The route back to the bus stop is a walk through a lovely park.

My trip back to Amsterdam went smoothly, but no sooner did we alight the bus than it began to drip.  I got my umbrella out and up just in time because it began to pour.  My jeans were soaked even before I got out of the Centraal Station plaza.  It didn’t matter.  I was on my way home and did not have far to go.

I’m going to have spinach and ricotta pasta for dinner with some Trappist Ale.  For some reason the stuff that calls itself Trippel hits my spot.  Now a few people would claim this is a weird combination. They are right but it’s good!

Dag!

Anne Frank and the Secret Annex

 Goededag!

Many thanks for the expressions of concern.  I've not noticed anything different in the Netherlands because of the atrocity in Norway, but I expect the whole European Union is on heightened alert.  Please don't let these incidents prevent you from traveling!

You will know when you get to the Anne Frank House, because of the line.  Get in it.  Waiting is worth it.

I did not think it would honor Anne if I showed up cranky and jet lagged so I waited.  Today seemed like a good day, since I was moving back to the old neighborhood and the house was on the way.  I got there shortly after the museum opened at nine o’clock and the line was already impressive.  I checked to see if there was a fast lane for those of us with the Museum Karte, but no.  So I got in line while the line grew ever longer behind me.

People need to be psychologically prepared for the line. There’s always going to be one, and it’s always going to be long.  Some tourists show up and frown and complain. One couple went and stood near the entrance and pouted—like that’s going to help.

The restorers did an excellent job.  The place doesn’t look like much from the outside, but after one leaves the introductory film and moves into the downstairs store rooms and offices, the historical environment begins to make sense.  The atmosphere is almost one of reverence, which I found appropriate.  People take the tour in silence for the most part, making only hushed comments to their companions.

One starts up a long steep flight of stairs.  Quotations from the diary and other relevant quotations are on the walls.  There are some videos as well, and an actress reading excerpts from the diary.  There are also filmed interviews with Otto Frank, one of the woman who helped protect the family, and some friends of the girls.  Some of the office furniture and belongings of the Frank family are on exhibit. Another steep flight of stairs and a hallway takes the visitor to the bookcase which concealed the small door is the Secret Annex where the Frank family and their companions hid out in mingled hope and desperation for more than two years.  Their story is one small part of the experience of the Dutch during the occupation—heroic resistance to Nazi bigotry and—alas—fear and betrayal.

I tried to imagine what it would be like to live in that dark, cramped space day after day, week after week hearing the sounds of real life outside while not being able to share it.  Anne longed for privacy and sunlight, for freedom and the fulfillment of her dream to be a writer.  That last part came true.  I like to think that somehow she knows it.

Two things I found especially moving.  A friend of Anne’s encountered her in the camp.  Anne’s mother and sister had died, and Anne said, “I have no one now.”  The friend finally succeeded in smuggling a bit of food to Anne, but did not see her again.  The friend believed that if Anne had known her father was still alive, she would have found the strength to survive another month to the liberation of the camp.

The other thing I found touching was the account of the other “forgotten” Frank girl, Margot.  When the family moved from Germany she quickly learned Dutch and helped her mother, tried to keep her sister stable, and was a brilliant student who had her Latin lessons smuggled in and out of the Annex.  She also kept a diary, but it did not survive.

Her friends regret the fact that Anne gets all the attention while Margot is forgotten.

When I emerged feeling solemn and thoughtful, I made my way down Princesgracht back to the Jordaan.  It had turned cold and blustery with gray, threatening clouds.  Hmm. I thought. I haven’t taken the ferry across the IJsselmeer yet. I’ll do that! 

So I did.  You can catch the ferry behind the Centraal Station.  Four wheeled traffic takes the tunnel, two wheeled or two legged goes by the free ferry.  It’s a great way to get views of the harbor and to explore a little-visited part of Amsterdam.  There are no “sights” just real people Dutch neighborhoods and some good walking.

Back at my old home in the Jordaan I decided to have a good Dutch meal of beer, gin, haring brodje and frites with mayo.  But the beer I choose was Belgian. Westmalle Tripel is ambrosial.

I’ve also tried jenever or gin.  I tried the young version.  It’s like water flavored alcohol.  I can understand why this would appeal to some folks.  It doesn’t to me.  I’ll probably end up pouring the bottle out.  Sorry, gin lovers.

Dag

A Day In Town

 Goededag!

It rained while I was having breakfast, and it’s raining now, but in between times except for a drip here and there it was dry.  Because I am moving tomorrow and there’s a crucial mountain stage of Tour de France, I decided to stay in town and give myself a fairly easy day.

I returned to the Rijksmuseum.  Yes, for the third time. I’m moving back to the Jordaan tomorrow and wanted to take advantage of the proximity as the museum is right across the canal and street.  I got there just as the museum opened at nine.  Because of my museum card, I get in for free, and I had a room full of Rembrandts all to myself for quite a while.  And I got to put my nose nearly on the paintings and look a long time.

Wow.  How does he do it?  The texture he manages to evoke of skin, cloth, fur, and whatever else he paints is truly marvelous.  I was also impressed by the way he gets his gold and gems to glint and glitter even in the dim light he generally creates.

The tour groups started coming, but I was able to dodge around them and spend more time with the Vermeers as well.  And I don’t want to forget the other charming genre paintings and landscapes, some wonderful van Ruisdaels among them.

As the museum began to fill up I headed out for a market.  Yes another one.  This one was largely a flea and clothes market, but I did amuse myself by imagining the reaction of the United States Customs Service upon finding cannabis lollipops in my luggage.  I didn’t buy anything though.

Except for the gelato.  I had cinnamon and chocolate, a combination I heartily endorse.  Lekker,  as I said to the young man who served me.

I spent the rest of the afternoon wandering the streets, licking windows, and going into some of the stores.  I squirted myself with some Jicky, so I smelled a lot better than I looked.  Several of the streets in central Amsterdam are pedestrianized and consequently crowded with walkers.  They have a lot of tourist-oriented shops and eating places, but also some real life Dutch stores, which I enjoyed snooting around in.  I planned to have an easy day, but I think I ended up walking four hours straight.

Smoking cheese is a practice that goes back at least to the Romans, and I think even they would be glad to get their hands on this smoked goat cheese.  It’s got a strong flavor and is definitely smokey. It’s also soft and spreadable on the cracker.  I’m having it with Hoegaarden Witbier.  White beer, I have since learned, should have limejuice squirted in it.  I have none, but it’s still pretty refreshing and goes well with the cheese, and anyway I would find it hard to dislike something that originated in the fifteenth century.

Dag!

A Trip to Leiden

Goededag!

The forecast was for rain again, but when I looked out the window this morning bits of blue sky were visible among the thin clouds.  Another day of good weather?  Yes!  So I went to Leiden.

I left early and trammed to the Centraal Station.  I had to wait around a little for my train, but the ride was fun. The trip to Leiden takes about thirty-five minutes. The trains are double deckers.  I stay on the lower floor on the way out out because I am not sure of when to get off.  After leaving the city water is everywhere, of course, but the beauty of the wild flowers struck me as well.  Ruby red poppies and white Queen Anne’s Lace share the grassy margins with blue and purple flowers I don’t recognize.

I was pleased to find the Tourist Information Office right across the street from the station.  I got a map and much advice from the tourist info guy at the counter.  Leidenese (Leidenites?) are obviously proud of their beautiful city for good reason, and I got some good tips not available from my guide book.

The first stop was the art museum.  Why aren’t you surprised?  Leiden was Rembrandt’s home town, but the collection in the museum included none of his works and was largely undistinguished.  The period rooms, on the other hand, were fascinating.  After my visit I walked along some canals.

Don't you ever get tired of strolling along canals, Pil?

No.

I also strolled down Leiden’s main and pedestrianized shopping street where I came across some seriously good ice cream.  The flavors were gelato flavors, but the taste was more milky like ice cream.

Leiden is in Southern Holland and has been the target of attacks and sieges many times.  A fortress sits in the center of the town.  I think the hill it sits on is an artificial mound given the general flatness of the country.  The views were nice.

I lucked into Leiden’s market day, so that was my next stop.  I bought some olives.  Yes, I know that olives aren’t exactly a Dutch product, but still. . .

After some more strolling around—very worthwhile in this very pleasant and attractive place, I returned to the station for my train back.  I sat on the top level as Amsterdam is the end of the line, so I had wonderful views.  You could look up the artist van Ruisdael to get an idea.  Flat land, big sky, much green and some farms and houses dotted here and there.  Until we approached Amsterdam and then it was all about the high-rise apartments and post modernist corporate buildings.  It was a relief to reach the historic center.

I trammed back most of the way home and hopped off because I needed to walk a bit to get groceries. I have to wonder what I look like because a group of young people picked me out on a crowded street to ask for directions.  They spoke English to me and understood what I was able to tell them.  They wanted the city center but were way off course, and I was glad to be able to help.  The reason I wonder what I look like is that when I get home and see my wild hair in the mirror, I think of nothing other than Wicked Witch of the West.

For dinner I tucked into my cheese purchases from Zaanse Schans.  I had the matured goat cheese with mustard. Jars of mustard and spreaders are available at the cheese shop, so folks can try the combination with a variety of cheeses and mustards. The mustard I am using comes from Zaanse Schans, but in fact I got it at the grocery store and have been dipping sausage chunks in it.  The idea is that the mustard helps digest the fat.  It also tastes great.  I can’t say the same for the (cheapo) Rose I chose to accompany this cheese fest.  I am hardly a wine connoisseur, but even I can tell skunky from decent.  Meh.  Shoulda stuck with beer!  But the cheese is first rate.  It’s not at all goaty but has a great mild flavor vaguely reminiscent of some really good Monterey Jack.  The mustard is an enhancement and does not overpower the cheese as long as it’s applied in small dabs.

Dag!

¡Windmills! ¡Wooden Shoes! Seriously!!!

[This to be said in a Gerard Butler “This is Sparta voice.”]  This is HOLLAND!

Goededag!

The forecast was for more rain, etc, but when I looked out my window in the morning there were bits of sunlight.  I set off for the Centraal Station to catch a bus for Zaanse Schans.  First I topped off my OV chip card, then I easily found the bus stop where a kindly Dutch woman warned some clueless tourists that no, the bus driver could not change a fifty euro bill.  I chimed in pointing to the transportation office and saying they could buy a card or tickets there.  When the tourists left, I fell into conversation with the Dutch woman.  She claimed her English was not good.  I think she meant she had a marked accent.  I find the Dutch very friendly.  Their famed tolerance extends to tourists, who like me, often have no clue.

We went under the IJsselmeer again, but turned in a different direction and proceeded through some real people suburbs and industrial parks.  For a while we were on a freeway—if you can call it that.  It's not a proper freeway—where was the traffic?  The crazed drivers with death wishes?

Now our bus driver on this major tourist route was a bit of a wag.  When we neared our destination there was a windmill of the sort I always think of as Oklahoman.  Picture tall and thin with a lot of small sails whirling.  The driver informed us solemnly that that was the last one left.  Nuh uh.  We’re going to Zaanse Schans, I thought, but some of my fellow passengers fell for it and quickly began snapping pictures.

Zaanse Schans is an outdoor park and well-known tourist trap.  I loved it.  One reason I had such a good time was that the weather cooperated.  If I’d been here yesterday it would have been miserable.  It’s a lovely place where I got to pet a cat and a friendly goat.  I think it was a goat. Some way exists to tell the difference between sheep and goats, but I can never remember what it is—something to do with the way horns curve.

Plenty of tour buses pulled up, and there were large groups of Asians—happy and interested this time.  I wondered if they were the same tour I saw at Volendam.  Admission to the site is free.  There’s a one or two euro charge for some of the museums and mills.  One does have to pay to pee.  When there is an admission charge to a larger museum or site, one does not.

The town has some charming, small, traditional houses, which are privately owned, so one can walk by and take pictures, but they are not open to the public.  Plenty of other things are. Apart from the numerous touristy shops is a bakery museum, an old grocery store museum (the original Albert Heijn for those who have visited the Netherlands), and traditional working windmills.  I mean the real Dutch kind, both tall and thick with windows in the base and great spreading sails that turn majestically in the wind.  One can go in and see how they work.

And wooden shoes?  You betcha!  There’s a clog maker and his shop on site with pointed toes for women and rounded toes for men.  They are so practical in cold, damp weather that evidently quite a few Dutch still wear them if they work on the land.

But let is not forget that other Dutch treat—cheese!  It calls itself a cheese farm, but it is in fact a cheese store for tourists.  And these folks know how to sell cheese!  Justly confident in their product, they give out generous samples of all sorts of cheese.  Consequently as a result of my—er—research—I didn’t have to buy lunch.  I finally settled on two types of goat cheese, a soft smoked kind, and a more traditional kind—both simply wonderful, but all the cheeses were.  Now I happen really to like goat cheese, but if you don’t or aren’t convinced by the samples plenty of different varieties of cow and sheep cheese are on offer.  You can buy the same cheeses in Amsterdam, but it’s more fun to get it at Zaanse Schans from cheerful girls dressed in traditional costumes. 

So I had a great day out!

Dinner was Indonesian.  Indonesia used to be a Dutch colony, and its food is still very popular in the Netherlands.  If I were with friends we’d go out for Rice Table, but since I’m not I had chicken ketiap.  Ketiap is the original catsup or ketchup, and proves to be a tangy sweet-sour sauce with chicken and vegetables.  Yummy noodles go on the side.  Here’s another dish I ‘d like to recreate at home.  I had one of my new favorite beers Grolsch Kanon as an accompaniment.

Dag!

Out to the IJsselmeer in the Wind and Rain

Goededag!

It was stormy all day with pouring rain and strong winds. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to go out to the shores of the IJsselmeer, but Monday means closed museums and no Tour de France.  I didn’t want to hang around the city, so I took the bus out of town.  My guidebook described Volendam as touristy.  That sounded good to me.

First I walked across Amsterdam to the Centraal Station.  My first adventure was trying to find the right bus stop.  I asked one driver and got the wrong advice, and then followed a couple who seemed to know what they were doing.  They did, and I hopped on the bus with my OV chip card.

The journey to Volendam took about forty minutes.  From the station we went under the IJsselmeer via a tunnel.  The outskirts of the city, I am sorry to report, are not picturesque.  In the central canal belt the highest structures are the church spires.  On the periphery one finds high rise office buildings and those Corbusierville complexes—although Amsterdam’s look much better than those of Paris and London.

Then we reached the countryside--green pastures, farms, water, cows, Mr. and Mrs. Swan and the cygnets.

Windmills, Pil?  Please tell us there were windmills.  It’s Holland.

Er.  Yes.  There were windmills.  You know the kind in the San Gorgonio Pass?  That kind.  I promise real windmills later.

I always have this problem with bus travel of not knowing where to get off. I saw a sign for tourist information when we reached Volendam, so I hopped off.  I had a long walk through a very pretty town, which I would have enjoyed had it not been storming.  I passed a couple of luxury hotels with parking lots full of tour buses.  Hmm.  I thought.  Touristy.  But where is the trap?

Finally I reached the tourist zone and the tourist information office, got a map and headed out.  Volendam is definitely a tourist trap, but it’s also worth a visit—just not in crummy weather.  The tourist zone is along the water front on the IJsselmeer.

You are driving us nuts!  What is this IJsselmeer?

Oh, sorry.  It’s the old Zuider Zee (or Southern Sea), but it’s been enclosed and is now a fresh water lake.  The IJ is what the Dutch call it, and that capital J is not a typo.  I’m pretty sure meer means lake.  I don’t know what the IJ means.

I had more poffertjes for lunch mainly because I could get a small serving and they were hot.  This time I had them doused in maple syrup—and the powdered sugar, which once again I got all over me.

I walked up and down the waterfront mostly going into the touristy stores to escape the pounding rain and wind.  The souvenirs were the usual assortment.  There is a public toilet, but they charge us trapped tourists seventy euro cents a go. 

Many, many tour buses continued to pull up, and groups of bored-looking Asians joined my promenade.

If the weather had been nice, I might have walked out on the breakwater or strolled around more of the town, or even taken a ferry across the IJ to another town, but as it was I caught the bus back to Amsterdam.  Once in town I made my way slowly home stopping to visit department and book stores.  The rain and wind continued to pound.  Somehow I lost one of my contact lenses.  Don’t worry.  I always carry back up.  Hence, the idea of me sitting with my feet up reading my kindle with a cup of green tea by my side while the storm raged began to appear more and more attractive.

I didn’t have to stop to pick up food.  I had chicken tikka masala, which I like just fine and some Heineken Oud Brun, which was very dark and almost chocolately like Guinness.  So it was pleasant to come out of the weather and enjoy a bit of gelligheid.

Dag!

Landscapes

 Goededag!

I am Too Cool.  Three of my comments published on Velonews’s live update coverage of the Tour de France.  I see it on TV with Dutch commentary, but I get the English info on line.

Some people abroad become angry and frustrated when things aren’t like home, but I’m the opposite. I travel for a break in routine and an appropriate challenge of figuring out a strange place and culture.  A trip to the grocery store is as good as a museum.  What do they have?  What don’t they have?  Orange juice is called Sinaasapfel, which I think translates to Chinese apple.  A lot of fruit and vegetables are some kind of “apfel.”  And then there’s using the plumbing.  Hot and cold are conveniently indicated in red and blue, but the taps turn perpendicular to the user and in different directions.  The microwave continues to be a real puzzle.  Fortunately the word stop is the same in both languages.

Nevertheless Amsterdam is an easy city.  It’s well sign posted, and I have not yet come across a Dutch person who did not speak good English.

I love the sound of falling rain as I breakfast snugly.  Being out in it for days on end is not as much fun.  The sky looked threatening yesterday, so I returned to the Van Gogh Museum getting there shortly before it opened.  There was already an impressive line, but I didn’t have to stand in it having my museum card.  It’s also possible to book tickets in advance on line for all the big museums, but one has to be able to print the tickets, I think.

The great thing about staying in a city for a few weeks is the chance to revisit to places one wants to see again.  Mid afternoon is a miserable time for visiting the justly popular Van Gogh Museum.  The morning was so much better!  I got to see many more of the works and take my time studying them.  The museum does an excellent job of tracing Vincent’s development as an artist and his creation of a unique style.  It also discusses influences from other artists and cultures and what he took and what he eventually rejected, and how his paintings reflected the places in which he lived.  Many of the paintings are wonderful. Van Gogh’s ferocious Sunflowers are here as well as landscapes both serene and bursting with energy.  I like to think the brilliant colors helped keep his demons away for a while, especially the yellow, which he saw as the color of love.

Because Amsterdam is a city of canals, the light reflecting off the water creates a magical atmosphere made even stronger when the sky is overcast.  I walked around licking windows and hunting souvenirs.  I like to buy presents on my trips, so that’s mainly what I was looking for.

Then the clouds cleared and the sun came out.  I headed for Vondelpark.  I appreciate European cities, but being closed in by the buildings so crowded together gets me down sometimes. One of the reasons I come to Europe is my hunger for green and my love of walking in the woods—appetites that cannot be satisfied at home. Vondelpark is pretty big and provided hours of wandering and even some woodland paths under tall chestnuts and spreading oaks. I didn’t recognize any of the other types of trees or shrubs.  Part of the park seems to have been designated a nature reserve, because people and their dogs were fenced out.  I saw a pair of nesting—storks?  herons?  There are a lot of birds and water fowl, but I didn’t see other sorts of animals possibly because so many dogs are around.

But then the sky turned threatening, so I came home just in time, too, because it began to pour.  The former Dutch colony of Suriname provided dinner.  I had Roti, a popular dish like a green curry with chicken, green beans, potato, and a hard boiled egg.  This was accompanied by a thick tortilla sort of thing.  To drink I had one of my favorites from Belgium called Duvel.  You can get this at Trader Joe, but be warned. It’s not called “devil” for nothing.  It goes down sweet and smooth, but it’s very strong, so too much and you pay the penalty for sin.

Dag!

A Vist to the Palace and a Market

Goededag!

I finally found a place to recycle all those beer bottles.  I’m sure you are as relieved about this as I am.

I found out that my guidebook was mistaken about the opening times of the Royal Palace, but since it was also mistaken about them not taking the museum card, it evened out.  So I had some time to kill and went around licking some windows.  I actually went inside some stores, too, checking out the offerings and pricing genuine Deft ware.  The real stuff is hand made, hand painted, and correspondingly expensive.  I need to be psychologically prepared for the purchase.

It rained off and on, but since it was not cold or windy it was rather pleasant.  I walked up Leidsestraat to the Dam, found the palace was closed, the proceeded up Damstraat and turned down Oudezids Voorburgwal.  I thought it would be a good idea to visit the Oud Kirke or Old Church, which sits on the edge of the Red Light District.  The church was closed up tight, but the sex shop next door was open all right.  The window display was not to believed.  What would anyone do with a supersized dildo?  No, please.  Don’t answer that.  One of the working girls was displaying her wares as well.

So I went back to the Dam.  I went into a perfume shop and squirted myself with one of the samples.  I can’t remember what it was, but phew!  I don’t want it again.

I take back what I said about no grandeur in Amsterdam.  The palace looks very royal, but  all the statuary, reliefs, and most of the paintings were put there when it was the town hall of Imperial Amsterdam.

Napoleon Bonaparte had a passel of unemployed brothers and sisters.  The sisters he married off.  The brothers got thrones, and the baby of the family Louis drew the Kingdom of Holland.  He was also unhappily married to Napoleon’s stepdaughter.  As the persistent rumor was that step dad was the father one of her children, you can understand why.

There’s a free audio guide to explain both the original function of the rooms and how the royals modified them.  The state apartments are in excellent condition furnished in the empire style and well worth seeing. It’s a truly beautiful building.

Saturday is market day!  So I made my way to the Noordermarkt walking down Princesengracht to find it.  This is Amsterdam’s organic market, but a lot of things are on offer, not just food.  I tried poffertjes.  Picture a mound of miniature pancakes served piping hot and doused with butter and powdered sugar.  Lekker!  Of course, I ended up covered in powdered sugar.  Sigh.

In other news.  History means an awful lot to me, so blog readers just need to put up with it. Otto von Habsburg last heir (although he renounced any claim) to the Austro-Hungarian Empire will be buried in the imperial crypt in Vienna.  Given the history of the end of the Twentieth Century you need to understand that this is a signal honor that he had to earn.  The news article I read referred to him as Mr. Habsburg (You cannot imagine the surreal effect in the mind of the historian of seeing anyone called Mr. Habsburg).  He was born into the Imperial Family just two years before the outbreak of World War I and grew up in exile.  As a young man he opposed the Nazi take over of his homeland.  At the time of his death he was ninety-eight and had spent his adult life as an advocate for European unity—the voluntary democratic kind—and was involved in peaceful demonstrations that led to the fall of the Iron Curtain.  He was a member of the European Parliament for many years.  Much history dies with him.

For dinner this evening is Thai red curry with chicken and rice—not hot and very flavorful.  One of the things I like to do is find meals that I can recreate at home, and I think this is one to try.  I think I can find ingredients or ready-made sauce.  It’s slightly sweet and faintly tomatoish.  Another dish I’d like to try to make is the famous Dutch pea soup, but that is a winter recipe, so I’m not having it this trip.

The beer of the day is Belgian—Palm.  It’s ok.  I think I might be getting spoiled by really good beer.  This tastes pretty much as usual.

Dag!

Yoooou Can't Take the A Train!

But you can easily get to Haarlem.  I did!

Goededag!

The day unexpectedly became brilliantly sunny and was hot in the afternoon.  Had I but known I’d have gone somewhere more rural, but Haarlem was in fact a delightful day trip from Amsterdam.   I wandered the canals and streets accompanied by the musical clangs of a carillon concert.

One can tram to the Centraal Station easily, but I walked across town.  It took about forty-five minutes as I occasionally stopped to lick a window.  At the station I shelled out fifty euro cents to use the WC.  Now I love coming to Europe and enjoy myself hugely, but my complaint has always been 1) lack of public toilets, 2) need to pay in the rare occasion one comes upon one.  For a middle-aged woman such as myself this can be problematical.  In case you are wondering why I’m so eager to get to a museum—often it’s the facilities as much as the exhibits that draw me.

One can count on clean (and expensive toilets) at large train stations and sometimes in shopping malls.  Even in department stores there’s usually a charge.  Rant over.

Back to Haarlem which is a very easy town, well sign posted, and with a straight ten minute walk from the station to the Grote Markt, which is the center of the historic center.  The space is open and mostly surrounded by cafes.  On such a nice day, they were crowded with people sitting outdoors enjoying the sun.  On one side sits the massive St. Bavo’s a beautiful Gothic church. The town, its shops, and pretty canals are charming.

First I went to the Teyler’s Museum because it was on the museum card and the Frans Hals Museum opened later.  The Teyler has a lot of fossils and minerals.  The free audio guide told me about the ones I was interested in.  There’s also a collection of gadgets from the past.  Suddenly coming upon a collection of “dinosaur” computers made me feel on the ancient side myself!  A few of you may even remember manual typewriters.  A collection of these artifacts from times gone by were displayed as well.

The museum also has a nice collection of Dutch Art from various periods.  The gems of the collection alas are not on display.  The museum owns several original drawings by Michelangelo and Rembrandt, but it shows only reproductions, and one has to make a special effort to see those.

On my way to the museum I came across a likely-looking gelato shop, so I back tracked for a snack.  At last!  I had some honey almond—so good it nearly killed me and some rich deeply-flavored chocolate—worth the trip all on its own.

After strolling the pedestrianized streets and walking along the canals I made my way to the Frans Hals Museum.  Housed in a handsome former almshouse for retired men, it’s quite large.  Works by Hals and his contemporaries as well as period furniture and ceramics are well presented.  Hals specialized in lively portraits, and his later work is almost Impressionistic in its execution.  The bread and butter of seventeenth century artists was the group or corporate portrait featuring committees, militia, or guilds.  Hals manages to make these look spontaneous.

Apart from Hal’s work, I enjoyed the still lives the most.  The Dutch love of flowers is much in evidence in some gorgeous paintings.  The other popular subject was a table laden with luxurious pewter and glass beautifully rendered along with the remains of succulent meals.  See the opened oysters, the bread, the half-peeled lemon?  Like the exquisite flowers, these, too, will pass quickly into oblivion, say the Dutch, like all merely earthly pleasures.

Then back to Amsterdam.  The train cars have two levels, and I managed to snag a window seat on the top level.  Water is everywhere, but I also caught glimpses of farms and saw fields with ponies and cows.  The land looks lush and green—and flat.  Very flat.

Dinner wasn’t that exciting.  I had salad, sausage and mustard and Dutch beer—very lekker, but not that much of a thrill.

Dag!

Art: Contemporary, Traditional--Culinary

 Goededag!

And Happy Bastille Day!—although you probably won’t be reading this on my Fourteenth.

It was not as cold today, and the rain fell only intermittently. Indeed the sun came out for about fifteen minutes at midday, but it was still not calm enough for me to go far afield, so I stayed in town.

I took myself and my Museum Karte to the Stedeijk or Museum of Modern Art.  I cannot pretend to be either especially fond or especially knowledgeable about Contemporary Art.  Many people complain it’s all rubbish.
But if you go to a big museum that exhibits earlier periods clearly not everyone of those works is a masterpiece.  Some are merely competent and are only on display because they survived.  So if we could fast forward a hundred years, the art of our time which is of lasting significance is more likely to be recognized.  That does not mean the critics or I can recognize it now.

It’s easy to appreciate naturalistic art, but the advent of photography means we don’t need painting or sculpture to show us what things look like, so artists turn to different methods of representation.  I like a lot of Contemporary Art.  Some is clever, much is playful; rarely I find myself moved.  Some of it leaves me either scratching my head or feeling revulsion—although that’s true of earlier art as well.

The art at the Stedelijk is well displayed with informative placards—often necessary—explaining the work and the artists’ purpose.  Frequently quotes of the artists illuminate their works.  What I liked best were the ceramic dinner sets, which I found both graceful and witty.  I also enjoyed a magical video of a winter forest combining animation and photography.  Unexpectedly I also found the work of the Russian Supremacist Malevich compelling.  His abstract figures seem to float in infinite space.

Then I crossed town to another era and another kind of art.  Rembrandt’s House would be worth seeing even if it were not associated with such a famous personality.  It’s a wonderfully preserved seventeenth century middle class home.  Ironically the inventory taken at Rembrandt’s bankruptcy as well as drawings he made allowed the restorers to credibly and beautifully recreate Rembrandt’s home as he knew it.  Only a few of his works are on display there, but one can get a real feeling for the life he led in the days of his prosperity.

In honor of Bastille Day I have obtained some Real Camembert—gooey and smelling of the feet of God. 
You know this how, Pil? 
Some French guy told me.  So we’re having a Cheese rematch: Young Dutch Gouda against some real French Camembert.  I divulge that Normandy is the land of my ancestors in the interests of full disclosure.  To balance that out, we will be testing the cheese in the presence of beer.  Both cheeses are at room temperature are placed on a cracker.  The beer is some dark Belgian brew (neutrality?) that calls itself Karacter and tastes rich and rather fruity. 

A bite of the Gouda reveals a firm texture and mild flavor.  It’s good but some might find it too salty.  The Camembert is of a different character.  It’s a ripe cheese and thus more fragrant and soft.  They are both good and too different for me to decide which is better.  Sorry.  Both go well with the beer though!

Welcome to the Second Annual European Chocolate Face Off.  I wish I could say it’s back by popular demand, but there’s not a lot of demand around this blog.  I know I have readers, so let’s pretend you like chocolate tastings.  OK?  This is a local match between two neighbors:  the Home Team the Netherlands and the rival down south Belgium.  I obtained high-end chocs in the form of pralines. If you think of Sees Candy with a chocolate shell over fillings you will have the picture. Recall that I visited the swank department store De Bejinhof (the Beehive) earlier this week.

To begin.  Belgian chocolate smells—well chocolately.  The shell was thick but broke quickly to reveal a smooth sort of citrusy filling.  Said filling is fluffy yet rich.  Nice job!

Now we turn to Dutch Chocs where we find a different sort of chocolate scent, a bit earthier.  The shell is less thick, but the filling is so good it might kill me.  Hazelnut—my favorite.  So good.

But let’s not stop there.  I have two more pieces to compare.  First the Belgian.  The shell is thicker once again, but good rich chocolate and this time the filling is nearly liquid.  I can’t put my finger on the flavor. It’s somewhat reminiscent of fruit, but that’s not all going on.  Once again the Dutch chocolate has a thinner shell, and a sort of firm nutty filling.

Both are very tasty.  And the truth is I can’t decide which is better.  My palate is simply not discerning enough.

Dag!

Gezelligheid

Goededag!

I fell asleep last night to the sound of rain pounding my windows and woke up to the same.  Time to experience a bit of Dutch gezelligheid or cozy homeyness as I had my breakfast, but I couldn’t just spend my day drinking tea.  I had to go out into the storm.

But first because I am in an apartment I have morning chores like dishes and sweeping up the crumbs from breakfast.  I took the trash out this morning as well.

Then I tried out the grocery store I discovered yesterday.  Nah.  It’s not going to do it for me.  I did get some basics like water and cracker, but if I want more to eat then I’m going to have to hike or get take out.

So it was really cold all day, and it rained the whole time.  But one has to expect that.  I have been very lucky with the weather my last few trips, so it’s my turn for a few days of cold and wet.

I thought I had a good plan.  I found the nearest tram stop and hopped the right tram touching my card.  The trams are quiet and smooth—very pleasant, but I had to guess when to get off and naturally I guessed wrong.  I overshot my target.  I knew the museum I wanted was near the zoo, so I followed the signs to the zoo and eventually got to my destination (soaked) after walking in a big circle.

The Tropical Museum of Amsterdam might seem like an odd place to visit.  I picked it because I needed a rainy day activity, it was on the Museum Karte, and the description sounded interesting.  I am glad I went.  It’s a marvelous place although I have to say a bit out of the way.  Tropical Museum is a bit of a misnomer, but the place presents the culture of some Non-Western societies with respect and style.  You can pop into shops, sit in a yurt, go into houses, walk through market places accompanied by the music of the culture.  Not only fabric and crafts, but some truly wonderful art is on display.  Don’t miss the ancestor statues from the Natives of South America, China, and West Africa!  I had a great time.

My next target was the Rembrandt House, but I didn’t make it.  I was off map and without a canal to guide me I got well and truly lost.  I walked through some pleasant Amsterdam neighborhoods, which I would have enjoyed had it not been cold and rainy.  I stopped frequently to consult the map.  But I had no idea where I was.  Now the truth is I was feeling a bit stubborn.  I had my magic transportation card and could have hopped a bus or a tram, but I kept walking—and walking—and walking--and seemed to get no nearer to my goal.

Finding myself unexpectedly close to home, I changed tactics.  The Van Loon Museum was about half a kilometer away and on a canal.  I was pretty sure I could find it.  The museum occupies a lovely eighteenth century canal house and has a bit of a Rococo flavor with those molded ceilings I like and another pretty room overlooking the back garden.  The furniture and some of the personal belongings of the family matriarch are on displays.  She Really Liked Shoes.  She was also chums with Queen Wilhelmina and unfortunately with some of the German occupiers during the war as well, so her high society days came to an end.

It was still cold and drizzly when I emerged onto the street.  By this time I was hungry and worn out from fighting the wind.  I decided I needed a hot dinner and needed it fast, so I went to a vegetarian falafel chain and ordered falafel and frites (with catsup this time because I was heavy on the sat fat yesterday) to go.  As the rain pattered on my windows I washed it down with some Belgian Lentebock.  I have no idea what this is, but it was mighty lekker.  Just be warned Belgian beer tends to be strong, and some of it is Really Strong.  This one was medium.

Really hit the old spot.  Sigh.  Gezelligheid and the Tour de France to boot.

Dag!

Strolling and Antiquities

 Goededag!

I discovered a grocery store much closer to home than the place I had been going.  The downside is that I had already stopped at the other place and was laden with food.  Ok.  Next time.

So it had to happen sometime.  I felt a bit under the weather this morning so my hot plans for going out of town evaporated, and the forecast for the next two days looks iffy.  Anyway I stayed in town and had a nice enough time although it may make for some dull reading.

The morning was brisk and windy as I emerged.  Later it settled down to still and more humid.  I assert, nevertheless, that the weather is far more pleasant than I would be experiencing at home.  On impulse instead of turning toward the town center, I went back to the Rijksmuseum.  Remember my ticket is “prepaid” with the Museum Karte.  And here is where I’d like to put in a plug for said cards.  Most cities offer them.  They may not save you money, but the savings in time (not having to stand in lines for tickets) and convenience (not having constantly to fish for Euros in your wallet) make them worth it.  In the morning when the Rijksmuseum is just opened, it is, of course, far less crowded.  One has to go through security, but they are very efficient, and I had a better chance to commune with Rembrandt and Vermeer.
Vermeer’s works are small but marvelously compelling.  He does in paint what Miss Austen does in her novels if that makes any sense to you.  The everyday, the commonplace suddenly takes on luminous significance.  Not just his pure northern light falling on faces, but the curtain just drawn aside, the paintings on the wall, the mousetrap in the corner all spring to the eye as things new and wonderful.

I had another good look at the “Night Watch.”  When I first saw it thirty years ago and more.  The glass was to protect the work from vandalism.  There’s a psycho syndrome where crazies need to attack works of art, and someone had taken an axe to the painting.  The security is still there I am sure, but a lot less intrusive.  Apparently the leader of the band, Frans Banning Coq was an idiot.  Yep.  Rembrandt does his best, but the guy does look kinda dim compared to the rest of the figures.  He’s the guy in front dressed in black if you want to look him up.

I don’t remember the route I took into the center of town.  I know I passed through the Spui and crossed Kalverstraat.  My target was the Allard Pierson Museum, and, of course, I used my Museum Karte.  This is the museum attached to the University of Amsterdam.  Now I happen to have a taste for antiquities, so while I had a great visit, this museum is not for everyone.  They have copies of various important works from Greece and Rome, but the real gems of the collection are the painted Greek vases from the Geometric Style through Red Figure.  They are beautiful and very well presented.  There’s also a notable Etruscan collection.

But I was on a mission.  I walked down to the plaza in front of the Centraal Station to the transportation office.  Readers of my London adventures will recall how enamored I was of the Oyster Card.  Well, Amsterdam has something similar, and I now possess one.  I have plans. . .  I also took a quick look around the Centraal Station, which looks cool on the outside, but is not all that interesting inside.

Back down the street where I poked around swank department stores and squirted myself with expensive perfume.  What was it?  Flore by Gucci?  Pretty nice.  I had another motive, which will be apparent in a few days.

By that time I was tired and it was growing humid.  I made my way home via the grocery store.  Dinner was some sausage with some very strong Dutch mustard—a tasty combination.  The beer of the day was some wonderful Trappist beer.  For some reason “tripel” is less strong than “duble” so I always choose tripel.  There’s a richness to this drink, that I can’t put my finger on.  Hops?  Barley?  At any rate the story goes that the monks tried, often in vain to discourage those who suddenly discovered their vocation after a sip of the beer.

I love Amsterdam, but one thing drives me NUTS.  Why the apostrophe?—and it doesn’t matter if it’s Dutch or English—for things that are clearly meant to be plural and not possessive?  Is Dutch different?  Is this in fact the way they form plural?  Why?  Is it Dutch leaking over into English usage with that annoying and Just Wrong apostrophe to form plural?  Whatever is causing it--Stop It!

Dag!

Churches and Cheese

Goededag

So it’s an unfortunate combination of Monday and Tour de France rest day.  Unfortunate because most of the museums across the Netherlands are shut tight, so there’s no point in my trying to leave the city.  Nevertheless Amsterdam does have its attractions.

After a trip to the regular grocery store for some regular groceries, I set off for the Albert Cuyp Market; Amsterdam’s largest and most renowned.   Not having a canal to follow, I promptly got lost, but walking is good, and I fetched up at the right place eventually.

Sure the tourists come here. I did. But the street markets are where many Europeans buy their food and other basic goods.  There’s a variety of food and much clothing on offer. I spent a fair amount of time poking around.  More about my purchase later.

After dumping off said purchase at my apartment I set off for a stroll around town.  Since it is a weekday and museums are closed quite a few of the people on the streets were tourists. I visited the flower market, which is very pretty, but I know better than to try to bring anything back.  I found a place with an Italian name selling gelato, but it wasn’t actually that good.  I walked down Kalverstaat licking windows.

I did take some detours to religious establishments.  Just off bustling commercial Kalverstraat is the Beguinehof.  Beguines were Roman Catholic laywomen dedicated to public service.  They avoided both the nuns' vows and the cloistering but tended to live communally.  One walks through the arches into what seems to be another world.  The houses and gardens are very pretty, but what is startling is the sudden transition from city center to village.  It’s not large and there’s nothing to see but the houses, gardens, small chapel, and the cats playing on the central lawn.  Nevertheless, I’d call this peaceful spot a must see.

The second religious establishment was of a more Protestant nature although it began its career as a gothic cathedral built in the 1400s.  This is Amsterdam’s “New Church” built smack in the center of town and conveniently located next to the palace for Dutch crowned heads to take their sacred oaths.  Being now a Protestant church it is comparatively bare of ornament, but it has an impressive organ, a marvelous baroque pulpit intricately carved in wood, and a copper screen on the choir.  I used my museum card to get in.

By the time I emerged, I had had enough of city streets and crowds.  I’d had enough of litter and dodging dog poop as well.  The Dutch who take such pride in their homes apparently don’t extend their concern to their streets and plazas. It had turned humid, so I made my way across town to the Vondelpark, named for the beloved poet and playwright Joost von den Vondel.  This is Amsterdam’s largest city park located near the Rijksmuseum.  It’s a fairly bustling place as a major cycling route passes through, and many Amsterdamers and tourists come to picnic or rest.  It possesses the usual features: dogs, cafes, flowers, trees, fountains, passed out drunks.  I strolled a while and then found a grassy place on the shore of a lake where I could watch ducks.  I don’t know what they were up to, but instead of paddling quietly around in a duck-like manner, they were flapping and splashing.  The object I at first took for a statue turned out to be a heron standing on its nest of twigs.

Then back home.  I have had an aperitif of some prosecco that did not violate my five euro rule and a snack of olives and almonds.  So now it’s time for—

The European Cheese Face Off.  In this corner France.  In the corner over here The Netherlands with the home advantage.  I actually don’t think this is going to be fair.  At the market I bought something that purports to be Camembert, but I am having some serious doubts about it.  It has no smell and a rubbery texture.  The home team is represented by Jong Gouda or young Gouda.  Both will be presented on a whole wheat cracker and at room temperature.  Both have had the rind peeled away. The drink of the day is some more of that Grolsch Kanon I liked so much.  The Dutch swear by the beer/cheese combination, which is another point in their favor in this contest.

Bite one:  Fake Camembert.  Well, it’s cheese and it’s not bad, but it’s not Camembert either.

Bite two:  Young Gouda—and I hope this is more authentic.  Hmmm.  Both are buttery and smooth.  The Gouda develops more as one chews although it is initially a bit bland like over mild cheddar.  But it turns out to be subtle and pretty complex for a young cheese and nicely satisfying.  Goes really well with beer, too!  So we can declare a winner for now, but I think France is going to demand a rematch.

Dag!