Right. Soldiering on (instead of writing my Language and the Media paper...but there's plenty of time for that.) Let's get right into the written notes from my second night in Amsterdam. Transcribing below:
02/11/09 (St. Christopher's Hostel)-
Ah, Amsterdam. I am enjoying myself here, too. Hostels really do agree with my travel sensibilities. They're the best. I can be social without being stupid or vulnerable. For example, last night, I went to dinner with two (out of five total) hostelroommates. Indonesian food. Very good, though perhaps not entirely politically correct. What with the colonization and all. What would Multatuli say? [Okay, obviously, I added that Multatuli bit. I did not know who he was at this point. But you don't either!]
After dinner, I passed on a pub crawl with creepy Mike (Mark? Mork?) and his friends, went back to the hostel, read in my room for a bit, went out to use the internet for an hour and charge electronics, then went back to the room to read some more. And then I slept. And that, friends, was my first night in Amsterdam. Granted, I arrived only just in time for dinner, and was a bit tired all day. And I still had three more nights.
So the hostel in Edinburgh was right in the middle of the Old Town, and had a very relaxed, comfortable vibe for its weary travelers. St. Christopher's Hostel is a bit different. While also quite centrally located (in what I would call the "pink light district," just off the Damrak and 5 minutes from Centraal Station) the lobby area is basically naught but a bar. There are no quiet places to sit with your book or journal if your constantly sleeping hostelroommmates have already turned out the light. This puts me at a slight disadvantage, considering my nocturnal travel habits, but no matter. I'm making friends with the drunk guys who think that they can approach the mousy girl writing all by herself.
Just now, in fact, I've been approached by two Canadians, Joel and John. We had a delightful conversation about what to see and do and drink (their contribution) in lovely Amsterdam, the general differences between our respective countries of origin, and the motivations of our travel. The Canadians seemed very impressed by my general solo travel philosophy, that is that I'm not here to make any bad decisions or put myself in compromising situations. I'm here for art, culture, and tulips. Not weed. Or sex. Or even drink, really. They admitted that their intentions are quite the opposite. But still we were friends! Ladies and gentlemen, hostels!
So. Catching up- today. I slept in- which was awesome. I've been sleeping a lot, to be sure, but I usually have to wake up early either to catch a tour, a train, or a plane, and sometimes I simply have to make the most of a short time in a new, unfamiliar city. It was nice, though, to sleep in until 11:00 and meet up for the 1:15 Free Tour (just like the one in Edinburgh!) instead of the 11:15. I am on vacation, after all.
The tour was great, led this time by an Australian ex-pat named Amy. "You're in Amy's Amsterdam, now, bitches!" she said. Okay, she didn't call us "bitches" but it seems to fit. Just like Canadian Kate of Edinburgh (wow, the alliterations) she was passionate enough about her adopted home to make up for the fact that she's not actually an Amsterdaminian (?) She seemed pleasantly surprised by her own fascination with the history of the city- like the common backpackers' job had actually managed to genuinely excite her. I've found this an interesting but common phenomenon among tour guides in general. Interesting, since I've always found history, personal or otherwise, to be the only real reason to visit any city, especially in Europe ("where the history comes from," Eddie Izzard tells us.) Okay, maybe art, too. Anyway, I find it difficult to understand that others don't feel this way. Must be all the pot.
Anyway, one of my friendlier, awake hostelroommates- I cannot for the life of me remember his name, thought someone introduced him to someone else here at the bar not an hour ago, and it's a guy's name that I like- joined me and together we sought out the "pick-up point," and failing that, the "starting point" in Dam Square. We were just in time to join Amy's tour- and it must have been fate, because there was a couple from Atlanta decked out in Georgia Tech hoodies and hats, and a Northeastern grad. Aw.
We started out in Dam Square, went through the red light district with its tax-paying hookers, crossed bridge after bridge over canal after canal, past "coffeeshop" after "coffeeshop," stopped for lunch, and finally ended up in front of the Anne Frank House, where Amy, genuinely moved, told us the story of both Anne Frank, and the February 25, 1941 strike and protest against the deportation of Dutch Jews. It was a very good tour, especially considering all of Amsterdam's various historical and contemporary places of interest. And Amy really did seem to love Amsterdam. So. I tipped well.
From there, I joined Russian Svetlana from San Francisco (via Russia) on the Museum Cruise line of the Amsterdam canal circuit. It was very nice, and extremely pretty. We casually chatted as our captain navigated through the various canals, past the Hermitage Amsterdam, the Museum of Music, and the Nemo. And! The world's largest floating Chinese Restaurant. Points of interest indeed! It was a perfectly lovely way to see the city, and Svetlana proved excellent company. She even promised to send me some pictures she took after my camera died (it's utterly useless!) [Haven't received anything yet, actually...but whatever.] After we docked at Centraal, she invited me to venture into the Red Light District, deciding that it would be best to see it with company, and we might as well take the advantage of the opportunity. The real Red Light District is as seedy and grossly fascinating as you would expect. I find it difficult to avoid eye-contact with the prostitutes who pose and gyrate in their rent-paid-for windows. I can't decide if I should feel sorry for them, or empowered by their sexual liberation, or simply repulsed by the whole situation. I suppose I should further research their general quality of life- though I did learn today that pimping is illegal, so that probably helps. Also in the Red Light District, one can find novelty sex shops and many, many opportunities to buy hard drugs. The pot-selling coffeeshops are interesting destinations, too. I even saw the one where Robbie Coltrane, George Clooney, and Matt Damon quote "Kashmir" in Ocean's 12 (Amy didn't mention Robbie Coltrane when she identified it- come on! He's Hagrid! He's James Bond's Russian Criminal Contact I Can't Remember the Name Of! He's Dr. Johnson!) Anyway, as stated, I don't think I'm here for pot. Still, it's an interesting subcultural element. I think I'll leave it all for Canadian Joel and John, though.
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Well, there ends my up-to-the minute (or night, anyway) journal transcriptions. So, from now on, you're getting plain, old Lauren's London-bound memory. I think I've got a pretty good command of facts though, never fear.
Anyway, that night, as mentioned, I made friends with those Canadians, who left me, before I started writing about them, for pot, naturally. The hostelroommates were all sleeping when I went to my room to read (seriously...I didn't see one of them leave his bed!) and so I went back to the bar and read amongst the drunks. I was approached again, this time by a chatty Australian named Pras, who saw me earlier with Joel and John, and naturally assumed that I was Canadian, too. When I corrected this, he was excessively penitent, as if confusing those two nationalities was the absolute height of racism. He was very drunk, too. Actually, I saw him again the next night, and we actually became something like friends. Good guy, Pras. I took a shot for him, too (my only liquor in Amsterdam.)
The next morning I woke up early and walked all the way down the Damrak to the Van Gogh museum and Rijksmuseum. It was a most pleasant little jaunt. I got lost a few times, which suited me just fine, since it was a nice, cloudy day, and it allowed me to see more of the city. The Van Gogh museum was very cool, but only just worth the 16 euro I paid. In light of that, I decided against the 11 euro for the Rijksmuseum, which I sort of regret now. I did look through the guide book in the gift shop and decided that there just wasn't enough must-see works to merit a visit. I did also buy a too-expensive hat that day (I would soon buy a too-expensive skirt and promptly run out of money. Damn you, Europe!) so the sacrifice was a noble one. And, really, I'm not all that into Dutch art. But! The Van Gogh museum was way cool, showcasing his letter-sketches, and the Potato Eaters. I was glad I saw that.
On my way back I got caught in the rain, and had some waffles in a little restaurant near the "I AMSTERDAM" statue, and after finally finding my way back to the hostel and eating 25% off bar food, I heard from MFAs, who had arrived the night before and invited me to meet up with them in a "coffeeshop" in the Red Light District. Pras of the night before offered to escort me through the sketch zone, though he didn't go inside, which was a shame. I kind of wanted to show those jerks that I was capable of making friends. Oh well. They were all high, anyway.
The next day, I trekked again down the Damrak to the Anne Frank House. It was very cool, and very interesting, but also crowded by disrespectful and unpleasant (is there any other kind- apart from Martha?) schoolchildren. The use of the texts of her diaries was very cool, almost as if Anne was telling the story herself, and there were a number of very informative videos that featured interviews with the now aged people who knew her. Like Dachau, it can't exactly be described adequately here, so if you get a chance to see it, do so.
As I was leaving the Anne Frank House, I saw MFAs in line to get in (the night before, Sarah told me that they were going early to avoid the lines, and I said "Oh, when I was there before, the lines weren't so bad." "The concierge at the hotel told me we need to get there early." "Okay, but I don't think it will be that bad." "Well, we're still going early!" So...ha.) Anyway, they invited me to dinner with them after they finished at the House, so while they went through, I walked around the neighboring canals, vaguely looking for a Waterstone's I remembered seeing somewhere around there from the Free Tour.
And then we went to Hard Rock Café. Again. I can't really say why I tagged along. I did actually have kind of a nice time. Mike, strangely enough, out of the group, was nicest to me. Weird. Anyway, the five of us caught up on our separate experiences, and when they stayed behind to get further and more expensively drunk, I left, returned to St. Christophers, and went with Pras and his friend to an Australian bar, Coco's Cave ("Warm beer and lousy food.") Good times. When I got back, I charged my electronics, and a fellow traveler told me that there was a rail strike on in Belgium the next day (you know, when I was leaving. For Belgium.) I went to bed determined not to worry.
I was very wrong. But we'll get to that tomorrow!
