(another of E's pics, that's her and victor on the evening of the 30th; when we saw it during the day time, there were a million people all over, so it was impossible to get a picture without someone else in it. we beat the system.)Before I begin the last part of my trip, I have to tell you about the weird bus ride and old lady SMACKDOWN I witnessed on the bus today.
I boarded the number 4 bus back to my bus stop. I walked through the entire bus, where there were approximately 6 seats available, but, due to crotchety old French ladies, I could not sit down. For some reason -- and this is almost only older women, men and students are normal about it -- older women sit only on the aisle seat, which prevents other people from sitting in the window seat. It's annoying, and when you look at them like, hi so sorry to inconvenience you but i'd like to sit down, they only stare coldly back at you. So, I made my way to the very back back seat where I had to sit by a strange man. Another thing about these crotchety ladies: (I realize this represents only portion of old French ladies, there's a large portion of perfectly amicable women who smile and move over, or get up so you can sit on the inside) the crotchety ones are terribly unapologetic. They'll push you over to get a good seat and whack you with a cane to get off the bus first.
The 4's route has recently changed a little due to tramway construction in the city, so I didn't notice when he went the old way, rather than the new way. Neither did anyone else, I imagine, just until the point when Mr. Bus driver swerved around a roundabout and went back in the direction we came from. We all kind of looked around -- by this point one crotchety lady had gotten up to get ready to get off the bus and I had taken her seat. I wasn't too worried about his crazy driving because I got out of work a little early and was up for an adventure.
Anyway, Mr. Bus driver got back on route and picked up some people at stop. Then, we were riding along Foch, crazily swerving bus all but forgotten, when a man who looked like he was probably a drunk boarded the bus. He was old and had a red face and dirty looking brown hair. He kind of stumbled on the bus and fell this way and that until he sat down, across from another crotchety old lady. The old lady got up at the next stop, and I'm not sure what happened, but it looked like the drunk was trying to help her. She had a cane. He kind of grabbed her arm and pushed her toward the door, but by the time she had shaken him off of her, the door had started to close. She pushed the button, but it wouldn't work.
"La PORTE!!" she yelled at Mr. Bus driver. "La PORRRTE!!" (la porte = the door)
The bus driver said something that I couldn't hear; I may have caught the words deux fois. Maybe he was trying to say he had pushed the button two times. I dunno.
Well, he did stop the bus, but this other old lady who I had assumed was another crotchety old lady, as she was sitting in an aisle seat with no one next to her, said to the first lady, "C'est pas difficile à dire s'il vous plaît!" (It's not too hard to say please.) I was like yeah! crotchety old lady #2, you tell her! She kind of repeated it to herself, and the first crotchety old lady got off the bus very huffily, and everything carried on as usual. It was a sight.
So, Amsterrrdahm Centrrraal:
In Dutch, there's a kind of roll-y "r" sound you're supposed to make. Victor told us about this at some point. But, a couple days earlier, on my train to Amsterdam from Köln, the conductor said everything in three languages: German, Dutch, and English. And every time he said the Dutch bit, he rolled his Rs in the most extravagant manner, so we all laughed whenever he would say Amsterdam Central, because it sounded like Amsterrrdahm Centrrraal!
So after the trip of a museum, Electric Lady Land, we were supposed to meet another friend of mine, Florie, for dinner. I met Florie when I studied in Lille, but we were having a hell of time getting in touch. I kept losing my signal, and my phone died. So I sent her Victor's number, and we went into a bar and had a couple of beers and played pool, only to discover that Victor didn't have a signal the whole time we were there. Luckily, I called her as she was boarding a train back to her parents'. She hopped off, and we waited in the main square for her. Meanwhile Victor's friend K tried to convince us that he knew about this awesome restaurant not too far away. "Convince" because he couldn't remember the name or what kind of food it served, and while he claimed he did know where it was, we couldn't help but remember our 40 minute out-of-the-way walk to Electric Lady Land. As we were waiting, a homeless looking lady did convince us to give her change for something or another.
Florie found us, and we decided to give K's suggestion a go and headed toward a side street. We found ourselves outside a standard-looking pub-ish type place, and Florie thought it was cool because she had wanted to take us somewhere nearby. We went in and up and found a cozy table for 5.
Then I had one of the best meals I've had in Europe.
Four of the five of us ordered chicken skewers covered in peanut sauce. It came with a side salad and shared fries. It was delicious. Among the many interesting facts that I read in my Let's Go Amsterdam travel book was a sidebar about Indonesian food in the Netherlands. The short version: due to Dutch colonialism, there is awesome Indonesian food in the Netherlands. We weren't at an Indonesian restaurant, but it was tasty and totally worth the €10ish it cost. We had a nice time discussing whether or not prostitutes are paid enough. Florie had to catch a train back home, so she headed out. The restaurant had board games, so we attempted Trivial Pursuit in Dutch for about 30 seconds before switching to Jenga.
(Picture courtesy of the lovely Elvynia! don't want to be too narcissistic, but I thought it was a good one.) It had been a lovely, if not totally packed, day in Amsterdam. So after a little Jenga, we braved the cold back to the car. Back at the apartment, we blasted the heat and played some Uno before hitting the sack. One thing I haven't mentioned: I had this terrific sleeping bag in Baarn. I guess it was Victor's family's arctic camping sleeping bag of awesomeness. As long as I kept my entire body within its confines, I slept well and warmly. I almost stole it. Almost.
On the 31st we slept in. Our goal for the day: buy chocolate. We weren't really looking for Dutch chocolate in particular, just chocolate. I had noticed a recent surge in my craving chocolate (from zero to all the time) and had been given the okay by Franziska (to be discussed in a future entry) to eat it constantly when I was in Germany. So Victor, Elvynia, and I finally rolled out the door around 3pm to enjoy our last hour of sunlight (sunlight-ish, it was very overcast) of 2009. We went to the grocery store in Baarn where we sipped on free coffee like real Dutch people. We also didn't pay too much attention to the man standing next to us. Elvynia and I bought chocolate and stroopwafels and other snack-foods for our bus ride on Saturday because we figured nothing would be open the 1st. As the last sun of 2009 set, E and V bought long underwear, and I bought a warm fleece scarf. Nothing says a New Year's Party like long underwear.
Back at the apartment, we got ready to go to V's friend's apartment to commence the New Year festivities. While E and I were keeping warm in the living room, the door bell rang. V went to get it and had a discussion with the person. When he came back, he said that it was the same man who had been standing by us at the free coffee place in the grocery store. He wanted bread. V said he had given him some, and the man left. E and I were a little freaked out by that and hid our valuables in our suitcases, in case the man should decide to enter after we left.
Then we met V's friends at their apartment, drank a little wine, and ate a little (too little) pizza.
Next stop: the Red Light District.
We had plans to go to a bar with a 90s cover band, but I insisted that as true tourists we had to at least see the red light district. Plus, we weren't planning on going back into Amsterdam until our bus on the 2nd.
So, as intrepid as the millions of other Brit and American tourists in the city, we headed for the Red Light district. I have to admit here that I had had a little to drink, so the whole thing has a kind of hazy dream-like quality to it. But here it goes:
We walked through the red light district, holding onto one another, pushing through the crowds, and saw the prostitutes in their windows. We were like kindergartners holding hands and looking at boobs.
Seriously, though, the streets were packed. And there were all these windows with these scantily-clad women in them. The buildings were tall and brick, and there were just tons of people, mostly guys, coming at us, and mostly wearing those winter hats with braids on the sides and theirs had Amsterdam printed on them in big letters. (I was sh**-talking those hats to Fabiola when I got back. Apparently, she bought one. Oops. She loves me.) There were sex shops in between the brothels. We went down one street called something like "Alice in Wonderland," The path gets more and more narrow because the buildings' walls are kind of at an angle, and, again, all of these people were just coming at us.
Semi-interesting fact that may not be entirely accurate: These days there is a push against the legalized prostitution in the Netherlands. Apparently one manifestation of this is the reduction of actual brothels, rather the prostitutes are self-run. Another thing to know is you have to knock on the windows to ask the prices. I joked about doing it, but I was too scared of the prostitutes. Fabiola told me that when she was there, only a couple days after us, her friend was taking pictures, which is totally not allowed. One of the prostitutes went after her!
Then we left and went to the bar. We had a lot of fun; the band didn't play a single 90s song. But we danced as it was. I tried to help the band out by singing a little on their break, but the stage guy didn't like that. At midnight, we went outside to scream in the New Year, but it was freaking freezing, so we went back inside. We finished the night with some fries and took the train back out of town.
I rang in my first morning (afternoon) of the New Year by not feeling too well and laying under my super sleeping bag much too long. V's parents had invited us over for a New Years chili, so we slowly made our way over there. Mrs. Van Ommen offered us some mulled wine, and my face must have said something like "God, no, anything but that." So, she offered us some sparkling water (frisky water, as Carolyn would say), and we had a nice afternoon of chili and cheese and other tasty things. After that it was a quiet night in, so we could make sure to get up early for....
the BUS!! (planes, trains, and AUTOMOBILES!) Elvynia and I booked a eurolines bus from Amsterdam to Paris for the whopping price of €44. We were kind of excited because, well, I've never really traveled by bus before, and I don't think she has either.
Anywho, V drove us to the station where a lady yelled at us for lying about how many bags we had (we didn't mean to); then we gave V a hug and thanked him for being a superb host and boarded our first ever inter-European bus! From Amsterdam to Brussels, there were only a handful of people, so we took advantage and spread ourselves out a little. It also started snowing, a lot, which was really cool to see. All of the sudden in Brussels, a million people boarded the bus; we didn't even have time to move together. The ride was easy and uneventful. We got to the Gallini station around 4:45 pm and made our way to Montparnasse for our final train of the holiday. Sigh.
We got to Angers where it was a balmy 4˚C, lovely compared to the Netherlands. It was nice to be at foyer du bon conseil in my own space, but, honestly, I had had such a great holiday I wished I was still traveling. The semi-real world of work did not appeal at all.
(Thank you so much again, Roth family, Franziska, and Victor. It was awesome.)
Next up: food shopping in France and maybe some regular shopping too.
"We were like kindergartners holding hands and looking at boobs." We were exactly like that!
ReplyDeleteI feel there's so much more about Amsterdam to write, but I just don't have the words.