Dam! This City is Cool

I bet you can guess what our first breath of Amsterdam air smelled like.

That's right: the sweet, sweet smell of freedom.

Our heads perhaps slightly muddled by a second-hand high, Evan and I managed to navigate the metro to Amsterdam Centraal, where we caught a ferry across the harbor to our hostel, which turned out to be the best hostel that I've stayed in yet in my travels. It was a big hostel, with great facilities (including a kitchen, bar, and outlets/lights at each comfortable bed), a good location (close to the city, but quiet at night), and fantastic staff (super friendly, and extremely helpful in the event of a mishap...yup, learned that one first-hand).

We checked in, put down our backpacks, and said a brief hello to our Canadian roommates before Evan and I had to dash to catch a ferry back across the harbor. Why the hurry? Well, it turns out that, in high school, Evan had a couple of Dutch friends, and since they were now all in the same country again, we were meeting them for dinner.

With a little help from Google Maps, we found our way to the restaurant, which wasn't too far off the main shopping street (already decked out with Christmas lights), and met Evan's friends: two sisters, one of whom lives in Amsterdam. We had a round of Belgian beers while the old friends caught up. When the waitress came back to ask, for the third time, if we were ready to order, the other three ordered various schnitzels. Thanks to the substantial amount of time I'd spent in Germany and Austria the previous month, I'd had my fill of schnitzel for a while, so I ordered my first steak in three years.

After dinner, the sisters showed us a little bit of the city, and introduced us to stroopwafels, those marvelous Dutch sweets. Holy cannoli, those things are addictive. I easily ate a dozen a day during my time in the Netherlands. Crispy waffles, filled with gooey caramel goodness...just thinking about them right now makes me want to catch a train back to Amsterdam instead of heading to Berlin today.

Anyway.

After a few more Belgian beers at a canalside table, Evan and I said good night and found our way back to the hostel.

Even Amsterdam knows that Bruges' beer is better.

The next day, we consulted TripAdvisor to help us find a good breakfast place. We had just about settled on an omelette place with a 4-star rating, and would have headed there for breakfast, had the next name on the list been anything other than "Bagels & Beans." As soon as we read the word "bagels," Evan and I knew that was where we were going. Bagels are one of the foods that both of us have missed the most since leaving the US.

Don't get me wrong, Europe does a lot of foods better than the US does, especially baked goods. But one thing that has been conspicuously absent from European bakeries is bagels. And if you know me, you know that there was a time--not so long ago--when I ate bagels for two meals out of every day.

To make a long soliloquy short, we went to Bagels & Beans, which had not only some pretty solid bagels, but also a spectacular view of the harbor. They also had ginormous coffees, including a mochaccino served in a cup as big as my head.

A restaurant after my own heart.

After breakfast, we poked around the main shopping street, where we discovered a deceptively narrow entrance to a large and ornately decorated church. We came to the conclusion that the church was strategically placed so that shoppers can come and pray to win the lottery, that way they can actually afford to shop on that street.

We then stumbled upon the famous flower market along one of the canals. This market boasts a mind-boggling array of Dutch tulip bulbs (I had no idea there were so many varieties!). Of course, not much was in bloom, given the time of year, but Evan managed to buy me a tulip anyway.

We cute.

Then it was time for our walking tour! In an effort to prevent hangriness from striking mid-tour, we grabbed a couple of hot ham-and-cheese baguettes on our way to the meeting point.

On the tour, we learned that the elevation of Amsterdam is about 3 meters below sea-level. The only reason that the city even exists is that those crazy Dutch literally built the land, using sea walls to hold back the water, before they put the buildings on it. (That's how the city got its name: from the dam that blocked the Amstel river.) We also learned that, even though Dutch tulips are world-famous, tulips were not native to the Netherlands; tulips originally came from Turkey.

And, of course, the tour guide showed us Amsterdam's famous red-light district, centered around the oldest church in the city. You may find this ironic--I definitely did--but, apparently, way back when Amsterdam first started out as a trading port, the church and the "ladies of the night" had quite the symbiotic relationship:

--The ladies used the church bells to time their "work shifts." The bells sounded every fifteen minutes, which made it very easy for the women to keep track of the time that their customers had paid for.

--At that time, the Catholic practice of "indulgences" was in full effect; sinners could make a donation to the church in exchange for forgiveness of their sins. At the conclusion of every "business transaction," the ladies would send their customers to the church to be forgiven for their sins. The church, in turn, would give a cut of their profits to the women.

The tour was very educational! 

After the tour, we went to a grocery store for dinner ingredients and to replenish our supply of stroopwafels. We also popped into a souvenir shop. I've been collecting postcards from every city that I visit (they're cheap souvenirs, very lightweight and packable, unlike the Oktoberfest stein that was my Munich souvenir). Evan, meanwhile, has made stickers his signature souvenir (also lightweight and packable, though occasionally more difficult to find). 

Souvenir shopping done, we went back to the hostel, where we took over one of the four kitchens to make pasta. (Yay for saving money!)

The next morning, Evan caught an early flight back to Rennes for class. I caught a couple more hours of sleep, then headed off to the Van Gogh Museum, one of the things that I had been most excited to get to Amsterdam to see.

What an AMAZING museum.

Obviously, there were paintings by Van Gogh everywhere, but there were also letters (both written by him and written to him), paintings by many of his artist friends and influences, and paintings by those influenced by him. There were also some of his original sketchbooks and painting equipment.

All of this was organized in such a way that really led me through Van Gogh's life and career as an artist, and I left the museum not only having seen many of my favorite paintings in person, but also with a better understanding of my favorite artist.

If you get the chance, I HIGHLY recommend visiting the Van Gogh Museum for yourself. 

Couldn't take any pictures inside, so here's one of the outside!

It was well past lunchtime by the time I left the museum, so I made my way back to Bagels & Beans for an XL-cappuccino and a bagel sandwich (I had to get my fix while I could). 

I wandered back along the main shopping street, which was a mistake: I fell in love with a coat that would have been beyond my price range even if I had an income right now. While searching for a knock-off version that I could actually afford, I discovered that late-90s/early-2000s fashions are alive and well, at least in Amsterdam: almost every store I went into had denim skirts.

The next day found me in Giethoorn, a teeny (we're talking one-grocery-store teeny) little canal town about three hours by train from Amsterdam. (Okay, fine, it's two hours if you actually pay attention and don't miss the stop where you were supposed to change trains.)

Since it's no longer the big tourism season, it was pretty quiet in Giethoorn. Nonetheless, I managed to keep busy by wandering around town, crossing dozens of bridges over the network of canals that serve as roads, and endlessly snapping pictures of the unbelievably-cute, thatched-roof houses.

This is my "I can't believe this place exists" face.

Later in the afternoon, I rented a kayak and took myself on a tour around the parts of town only accessible by watercraft. I also paddled to the lake, which, aside from the ducks who--based on their panicked quacks--were as afraid I'd capsize as I was, was incredibly still and peaceful.

For my last day in the Netherlands, I had a ticket to the Anne Frank House. Evan and I had planned to go together on Monday, but when we went online to get tickets ahead of time (rather than stand in line for 3+ hours), they were completely sold out, not only for Monday, but for every day for the next few weeks! Apparently tickets are booked typically a month in advance...whoops. Luckily for me, on Monday night, someone cancelled their tickets for Friday morning, so I was able to snag one.

I'd been to the Anne Frank House once before, when my family visited Europe eight years ago. But that was before I had read the diary of Anne Frank. This time, walking through the rooms in which the Frank family, with four other people, had hidden for two years during World War II, held much more meaning. It's really something that everyone should visit in person.

After my morning in the museum, I was feeling pretty subdued, so I just wandered around Amsterdam for a while. I briefly stopped into a different Bagels & Beans for lunch, and when it started to rain an hour later, I ducked into a bookstore for cover.

Fortuitously, it turned out to be the American Book Center in Amsterdam; four wondeful floors of books and magazines that I could actually read! It was perfect, because I'd run short of new reading material--carrying around a bunch of books isn't exactly conducive to packing light--so I whiled away a couple of hours browsing, eventually becoming engrossed in Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Johnathan Safran Foer. Have any of you ever read that? I bought the paperback, making use of the student discount that the shop offered, and I'm in the middle of it now...it's a great read so far.

Anyway, I guess my mind was still in my book when I got back to the hostel, because I somehow managed to lock my keys in my locker. 

Yup. I guess it was about time for another mishap. 

The girl from reception and I both tried our hand with the bolt-cutters, to no avail. A little while later, the good-natured bar manager--who was a rather brawny fellow--arrived, complimented the sturdiness of my padlock, then proceeded to bust it open in a matter of seconds. 

Bless.

The rest of the evening was spent packing up my newly-liberated backpack, ready for an early departure the next morning. I was Copenhagen-bound!