Revengeful Lobster

If I had to sum up Amsterdam, I’d say it was a City of Art. You can say all you want about the drugs and the sex, but even in the red light district you can’t escape the architecture, canals, or museums. I imagine it’s much like the capital of anywhere else- old in parts, with some really nice areas and a good deal of dives too. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, as the only prior impressions of the City I had were from Dave who, to put it one way, recommended some good Coffeeshops to visit, and Quicksilver by Neal Stephenson, part of which takes place in Amsterdam during its Golden Age (17th century). So it was either a den of drug barons or the world’s greatest trading hub, and a significant threat to the England.

The flight over was marred slightly by having to sit next to a large party of yobbos, clearly having some kind of stag do, but they kept to themselves mostly, and couldn’t spoil the view out the window, at least. The Netherlands has a pile of water all over the place, and it looks from above like it must be a constant battle to channel it through their waterways and not have it spill over and wash away the entire country.

Schiphol Airport supposedly has won awards for being great, or something, but really it’s just another place where planes land. Everything’s in English, but they do have those cool flat escalator things. There’s a rail connection, where DOUBLE DECKER TRAINS will take you to the Centraal Station in Amsterdam.

Our accommodation was only a 5 minute walk from the station, and after a phonecall to locate it amongst the others all chained together in the Oosterdok, we found the houseboat we were staying in. Props at this point to CityMundo, who we dealt with to find and rent the Captain’s quarters on the MS Hortensia. I secretly wanted storms and choppy waters, but the unseasonably sunny and calm weather meant the rocking was kept to a calm sway.

After dumping all our stuff, Sam and I set off to find someplace to have dinner, and came across De Waag:

Part of the original City walls, this converted gatehouse is now a trendy restaurant bar. A little bit poshe, but the food was great and the interior is lit only by candles, giving it a sort of medieval feel. It turns out we would return for drinks more than once, mostly because the location is some kind of focal point for the road network, an obivious site for the marketplace, and we would often stumble upon it on our rambles.

Drinking is… different in Amsterdam. Actually it’s more likely to be the whole of the Netherlands, or maybe even Europe, but I don’t have any other experience of going out to places and buying drinks, so I’m not sure. If you walk into a bar and ask for a beer, they give you what an Englishman would call a half-pint. They also leave a massive head on everything. This makes getting drunk quite expensive, and it really brought home how much of a nation of drinkers we are. Maybe it’s just the difference the metric system has on a country. Mind you, it’s easy enough to get served a litre of beer in Spain, so…

The next day we went to the Rijksmuseum, which displays what I like to call “proper art”. None of this “three green squares – that’ll be one million pounds please” rubbish. Lots of Rembrandt, and artifacts from the days when the Dutch had their own Empire. There was an interesting exhibition on early fire engines, which was pretty cool if you like that sort of thing. I also learned about a drinking game I’m eager to try out sometime, using something called a pasglas. Basically a tall glass with randomly interspaced rings along its length, you have to drink up to the next ring and not over, otherwise you have to continue until you find its level settle on one. Devious.

A lot of our time in the ‘dam was spent strolling along canals, getting lost down sidestreets and resting our feet at cafes. Try the mint tea which they seem to do everywhere, it’s full of mint and comes with a crazy spoon. Following Dave’s advice, the supermarket is a great way to absorb nutrition without burning a hole through your wallet, so Sam and I made good use of the tiny kitchen on the boat and cooked a couple of meals.

The other time we ate out was at a bar called Frenzi, which from the website is either an independant place or a very small chain, I’m not sure. It’s tucked away right in the middle of the City, and exactly what we wanted when we were striving to find a nice place to drink that wasn’t a coffeeshop, Argentinian steakhouse, or some other tacky tourist trap.

There I am, with some kind of beard going on.

The weekend we were there for was “Museum Weekend”, so several places were offering reduced, or even free entry. Discovered almost accidentally, above a seemingly disused nightclub the entry to which is like a gateway into a graffiti artist’s mind, and positioned on a building site, Sam and I visited the Stedelijk Museum CS (CS? Answers on a postcard, please). The entire experience was possibly my single most bizarre encounter with a building ever. Finding a way in was the first problem, as there weren’t a lot of people around, and no obvious signposting. At first we thought it was this:

But upon further exploration of this dark yet colourful grotto we decided it was indeed the entrance to a club. The twisting corridors terminated at a pair of service elevators, which I’m afraid to admit, caused me to bolt as soon as I noticed one was moving upwards towards our level. That’s right, I was convinced demons from Hell were about to emerge from the lift and swallow my soul for not being on the guest list.

Reapproaching the building from the other side, we found what we think was the entrance, but it looked very closed. I walked up to the doors to peer in through the window, and was surprised when they automatically slid open. At this point I was still unsure whether I was even allowed to be where I was, but as the only two people in a 100 meter radius were a guy handing out unrelated leaflets and a very confused looking tourist, I wasn’t going to let anyone stop me. Inside, everything was very industrial, and I wasn’t sure if this was simply another music venue of somesort, perhaps a rave or technometal club.

Naturally, the first place we checked out was the Basement:

(Actually in the basement, not just a clever name)

It was eerie. Like outside, it was completely desolate, except for us and the tourist guy who had decided to follow. There were collections of stuff on display, and just in case it was art, I’ll refrain from posting the pictures. I was in an adventurous mood, and obviously trying to compensate for my previous display of lilly-liveredness in front of Sam, so I was trying doors. Behind one I could hear music. “Aha!” I thought to myself, “this must be where the illegal rave is at!” The music was a dance/trance/whatever beat, and pulling open the door behind which it came from I was faced with another dark and mysterious-looking corridor.

At this point we had lost our confused fellow, who obviously had more sense than I did, and who didn’t think hanging out with a couple who seemed to enjoy breaking and entering was a good idea. Nevertheless, I explored this passageway, recording the footage on my camera (which I might try uploading to YouTube), and found a hi-fi balanced on a stack of boxes, in the corridor’s bend. Peering very carefully round the corner, I saw BEER. Crates and crates of the stuff, unattended. I concluded that either the helldemons were planning a party, or this was just where the club kept their drinks. I didn’t think stealing from demons or club owners was a good idea, so Sam and I returned to the ground level.

Ascending a few levels took us to the real museum, which after Sam’s enquiries (there were finally some other people around) turned out to be free for the day, so we went in. As it turns out, the Stedelijk displays a lot of what I often call “rubbish”, but others seem to be keen on refering to as “modern” art. You know how sometimes modern art is stereotyped with an obscure video installation, where a series of television sets are looping through a scene with a chicken, then a man crossing the road, with some whacked-out drum and bass in the background? Well there was actually a piece just like that. Two rows of TVs, facing other, which you had to stand between while words and pictures flashed on and off. There was some monologue to it, about reality or somesuch, but I was too agape to be listening.

This went on for a bit, and I think a heavy exposure to video installations, e.g. a loop of someone standing on an arm, another of someone running, one of some rocks, a fish market, someone painting themself green, was a little too much for my brain to handle. There may have been some Gilbert and George there, which I have heard of, but I think my perception of reality had been temporarily annihilated. The heat of the burning sun once we left and were outside once more was but a gentle caress of my head compared to the mental assault I had just experienced. Well maybe I exaggerate. But this stuff should carry a warning: “MAY IRRITATE THOSE OF A LOGICAL NATURE!”

...

This picture of a wonky (and I’m not going to laugh that the Dutch for that is “wankel”) house, taken by Sam at an extreme angle to accentuate its lopsided-ness is perfectly normal compared to the mind-bending blasphemy that is a modern art mueseum, and a good way to get me off the subject before I enter full rant-mode.

One of my favourite things about Amsterdam was how each building was different. They’re tall, individual, and most of them are water-facing. It would be a great place to live. Next time I go, it might be fun to stay in one.

There was a lot I would have loved to have seen, but we just didn’t have the time to visit. It would be interesting to learn more about the old days, when the VOC was exploring the world, pirates were avast on the high seas, and Amsterdam was the centre of the financial universe.

Best holiday yet!