We stayed in the Jordaan district, which was once the workers' quarter but is now all about twinkly bridges, unfenced canals, trendy boutiques and bad-tempered-barrista cafes. Michael and I disgraced Melbourne when we entered a cafe and asked for 'fancy' coffee. They didn't have skinny. They didn't have mocha. What they did have was judgement and scorn.
Michael and I made quite the culturally insensitive team. Here's a tip you won't find in Lonely Planet: supermarket fruit purchases must be weighed in advance by the customer, or the cashier will send you to the naughty corner. Also, a brief Dutch language lesson: don't. If it's impossible for linguistic experts like me and Michael (cough) then nobody can do it. I tried to say thank you, and sounded like an Uruk-hai speaking Dutch badly.
Traveling with Michael wasn't too bad; he allowed me to dictate most of our travel plans. But I'm a benevolent tyrant, which is how I found myself spending our first evening in Amsterdam at a pub watching an Ajax vs Celtic soccer match. I was accompanied by a nice red glass of kriek - here's to you, Bruges travel team!
Next morning we made our way bright and early to the Anne Frank House museum. It was a confronting experience. We've all read the diary, but seeing the cramped, shuttered hiding place in person really brought the horrible reality of it home. The rooms had been stripped of furniture on Otto Frank's direction, but magazine clippings and photos were still plastered on the walls, and it wasn't hard to imagine the tiny apartment as it had been in the early 40s. Definitely worth a visit.
That afternoon was the highlight of our Dutch experience: a 3.5 hour bike tour of the city. I hopped on my bright orange bike and skidded along between startled tourists, irate locals and, worst of the lot, native cyclists. These guys are serious. These guys won't hesitate to mow you down. There are two road rules in Amsterdam: 1) the cyclist always wins; and 2) there are no rules.
We followed our tour guide through the museum park, the Jordaan district, Vondel park (where dogs run leash-free and humans run through dog poo), the red light district and a windmill pub that makes its own beer.
- So, Fiona, what was the red light district like?
- In a word, depressing. It was like the Royal Melbourne Show, or Oxford St, or anywhere stacked with tourists looking at compartmentalized displays/cages of livestock/produce. But with slightly fewer children. I have nothing to say about the benefits or otherwise of legalizing prostitution, but I still find it completely weird and appalling that the red light district of all places is such a massive tourist attraction in Amsterdam. The Rijksmuseum is full of naked ladies, and entry is cheaper.
Apparently somewhere between 4000 to 5000 bikes are stolen each year in Amsterdam. Some are dumped in the canals. This makes it rather dangerous to ride one's bike into the canals, as Kiwi tourists reportedly tend to do. It's not as difficult as it might sound; the Dutch don't seem to believe in fencing off the canals in any way. In fact, so many men were fished from the canals with their flies undone that the city council decided to install urinals out on the streets to tempt people who would otherwise head directly canal-wards.
On the last day of our trip, Michael and I visited the Rijksmuseum. There were Vermeers, Rembrandts, a couple of Van Goughs which must have been nicked from the Van Gough museum down the street, and a whole lot of blue and white pottery. Mmm culture.
It was very hugely cold outside, so what a relief to return to balmy, sunny London...
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