Wintertime in Amsterdam (Amsterdam)

It most certainly is not wintertime in Amsterdam dear reader, but I love Richard Clapton and it does have Amsterdam in the title and we're still here. It's from his classic 1977 album, Goodbye Tiger, one of my absolute favourites. In fact, the weather is anything but wintry. The usual jokes about Holland's one week of summer have disappeared and apparently snow is not common in Amsterdam anymore. The weather forecast today: hot. They nailed it.

Our group was the last to leave the Hilton this morning and there are four us staying at the Marriott. It is closer to the Old Town and the attractions. Aside from that it is a mystery.

It was our first full day under our own recognisance. Exciting. We enjoyed the cruise, but we prefer to move at our own pace and in our own direction, which today meant wandering the streets of Amsterdam. Literally.

The Rijksmuseum from across the canal.

We did have a vague plan. And a map. We wanted to scope out where we were, in relation to the tours we have booked: the Van Gogh Museum and Anne Frank House; and get a sense of the city itself and its layout. There is nothing like getting to know a place by walking its streets. We liked it. A lot. Despite it being the last week of the summer holidays for the locals and many others from the Northern hemisphere.

The atmosphere is relaxed. If you exclude the cyclists, the sweetest looking of whom can burst into a steroid-style rage, should you step in front of them. On a pedestrian crossing. Where you have right of way. Legally. They are crazy, with no regard for traffic laws, lights, crossings, your safety ... whatever. I've learnt to say some choice things in Dutch, so I can respond in kind.

The 650m long market

First stop was to check out the meeting place for the Van Gogh tour and from there, we navigated to one of the plethora of flea markets, dotted around Amsterdam. Actually, that's a bit harsh. Albert Cuypmarkt also does produce; vegetables, fruit, fish, cheeses and some meat. We purchased a stroopwaffle because that's a thing to do. Ours had the added enjoyment of a layer of nutella (not a fan). The whole experience was underwhelming, but, tick that box. We also purchased a couple of t-shirts.

Picturesque? Not so much.

The most visited park in Amsterdam is Sarphatipark. Who are we to argue? We went there next but we are still not sure why it is so popular. There was a really cool statue, but it was fenced off and the grass in the enclosed section looked very welcoming - the locals looked at its green lushness with wistful faces.

Off limits.

We then set off to explore a few shopping, café and bar areas, looking for a place in the shade where we could enjoy some food and alcohol. There were many, many options. After a reconnoître of the area known as Leidseplein, across the canal from our hotel, we stopped for the regulation beer with people watching, despite the fact that the spruiker identified us as American, then Canadian, then English and finally Kiwi before I dropped into a nasal, "Strewth mate". He was lucky I was hot, tired and thirsty otherwise there would have been no sale. After a refreshing pint of Heineken, we headed off up the main street towards the centre of Amsterdam, also known as Old Town.

A random find in a side street

By now, the whole of Amsterdam, and quite a few tourists, had converged on this area and we wove our way through the crowds, the killer bikes and the trams to reach an inner canal that is lined with a vast array of flower markets. Not the florist kind - bags and bags of seeds and bulbs, with some cacti and all kinds of souvenirs of tulips and other flowers.

Not quite what I was expecting.

We decided that it was time to seriously think about a late lunch/early dinner but, rather than try to navigate the crowds along the main street, we took a parallel backstreet and the cut back into the throng, further away from Old Town.

At one point, I thought we were in Italy. I've seen bigger streets in Italy with less Italian restaurants. Confronted by such choice, we did the obvious and selected an Italian restaurant. Part of the charm of a city like Amsterdam is people watching and Jayne scored gold on this round. Behind me, a gentleman arrived, sat and ordered his pizza. The crusts were authentic excellence, but not to his liking and he assiduously cut around the base, removing the crust and then ate the centre of his pizza, using the same knife and fork. His crust still ringed the plate as he departed. Ironically, he actually had curly hair...

The performance enhanced our enjoyment of dinner and some bruschetta, calamari, a pizza and a bottle of Montepulciano later, we walked home to the air conditioning of our hotel.

Our first day concluded with some serious rehydration, water and tea only, blogging and processing photos.

Until tomorrow.

Windmill in old Amsterdam (Amsterdam)

Well, dear reader, what a classic song we have for today's title. It's by that international superstar, Ronnie Hilton. What? You haven't heard of him or the song? Well here it is all the from 1965. Enjoy, if that's the word for it. You get extra points for making it all the way to the end. Disclaimer: I didn't.

Today we left the ship for the final time. No, really, it happened. We had to be awake early, with bags in the corridor by 6:45. In the morning, one passenger clarified for the rest of us, after registering the shock on so many faces. Breakfast followed shortly thereafter and then it was into the lounge by 8am and onto the coaches by 8:15am. As has become our schtick, everything went smoothly and the ship was rid of all of us at the appointed time.

We waved a sad farewell to the crew but we had made it further than we thought possible. Once again, well done to the APT staff for making it happen. The road journey had to be punctuated by two stops for the driver, which meant the 4 hours or so would stretch beyond 5. All good, many of us were hoping for some extra sleep.

Some flowers to brighten the story.

About 30 minutes into the journey, I began to feel unwell. A strange feeling in my stomach was accompanied by cold sweats. Psychologically, the fact that I was trapped on a bus did not improve the situation mentally or physically. My agitated state increased, as did my discomfort, with the sweat coming from every pore. Jayne had been side-eyeing me, Grace Tame style, for quite a while. It was time to alert the tour guide.

Chris was supportive and said he'd do whatever was necessary. I headed for the toilet. Now here was a virgin experience, dear reader. I had never been inside a toilet cubicle on a coach. While I'm sure many a gymnastic feat has been performed in this limited space, it was not a happy place for me. I shall spare you the graphic details by time lapse writing ... Jayne was waiting for me when I opened the door. The sweat was still pouring from me as I stumbled back to my seat, strapped myself back in and slept fitfully until the authorised stop along the Autobahn.

Now I had thought I managed all of this very quietly, without notice. However, given the questions about how I was feeling and the comments about my pallor, clearly I was mistaken. It was nice to know people cared. Trip resumed, sleep back in the frame, I awoke as we were rolling into Amsterdam.

We are staying, tonight only, at the Amsterdam Hilton, where John and Yoko stayed when they held their peace protest. Our rooms were ready but our bags weren't unloaded, so it was a quick refresh and we were off to see the windmills of old Amsterdam (see what I did there?).

Imagine (not our room - they stayed on the floor below us).

Zaanse Schans is an historic village somewhere on the North Western outskirts of Amsterdam. I have no idea where, the one-way roads, loops and tunnels made it difficult to follow. And yes, I was not at the top of my game.

Quite amazing to see how they work

Pauline, our guide, talked all the way to the village and then all the way around the village, except for a 15 minute break for free time to allow us to explore the place ourselves. It was insufficient to do much more than look at the souvenir shops. Then she talked all the way home. Yay. It may well have been interesting. It may well have been relevant, but I just wanted some down time.

Grinding limestone for paint

The village itself was very crowded - a big tourist attraction which contains the usual shops and eateries but it is also the site of 4 working windmills. You can actually go inside to hear about their workings and then climb up to the top to see the whole precinct from that vantage point. 

The windmill we went into is still operating by traditional methods to grind limestone and also red wood to make dyes for fabrics and paints. We watched a demonstration of the pulverisation of a block of redwood but there was not enough wind to operate the main mill to grind the limestone.

The site is also home to many people who choose to rent the period houses that create an authentic village. The people who rent there, do so, understanding that while they may be sitting on their front porch, there might be a steady stream of tourists wandering past. The houses and their gardens are off limits to tourists but it hardly makes for a quiet life.

People really live there.

The most fascinating part of the tour was a demonstration of how wooden shoes are now made. The craftsman clearly enjoyed performing for a crowd and transformed a block of willow or poplar wood into a wooden shoe in about 5 minutes. 

Well worth seeing if the opportunity arises.

The process is now shortened by the use of some machinery to rough cut the outline of the shoe and then drill out the inside, both using a last as a guide to automate the process. In 5 minutes, instead of the previously required 5 hours, he had produced a rough shoe whose toe and heel were then refined by hand tools. The shoe is then set aside to dry out for several days, before it can finally be polished and decorated. The craftsman showed us how much liquid was still in the wood by blowing into the shoe and forcing an astonishing spray of fluid out of the toe. 

The wooden shoes are still very much in common use in the Netherlands, requiring 2 pairs of socks, to be worn in, for wearing across many spheres of life, including industrial and agricultural areas, where they are the Dutch version of a steel capped boot.

Wooden shoes for sale.

Other random sights around the village included a woman, who looked very much like she was shoplifting a scarf from a souvenir shop and then paused outside to show her husband her new acquisition. We also saw a teenaged girl who was sporting 2 very badly scabbed knees as she hobbled around the exhibits. Perhaps a victim of trying, unsuccessfully, to adopt the local transportation method of bicycling around the cut-throat bike lanes of Amsterdam?

I say cut-throat because one piece of information that our tour guide repeated several times, was that we must be careful when walking around the city, because the cyclists here are referred to as 'killer bikes'. They have designated bike lanes everywhere which are heavily patronised by cyclists, motor cyclists, mini smart cars, in fact any vehicle that is not technically a full sized car or truck.

The cyclists rule the roads here and the official road rules are mere suggestions or annoying inconveniences - they take no prisoners if you inadvertently get in their way, even if you have right of way.  Every cyclist seems to be on a serious mission to get somewhere and they ride in endless streams, without helmets, at quite a pace. Not for the faint hearted or out-of-towners, in my humble opinion. Anyone who hesitates or falls off will undoubtedly cause carnage in a major pile up!

While we were touring the windmill village, others from our group chose to experience a canal cruise. Something we will do later in the week. It is the last week of school holidays here and one of the pastimes of the naughtier children involves balloons, water, bridges and canal boats. It really is a test of their grasp of physics. Fill a balloon with water, tie off the top and then wait for a passing canal boat with an open top. As the boat passes under the bridge drop the balloon so that it explodes in the open section of the boat drenching those nearby, as well as scaring or scarring them. It was a test of nerves for the passengers and the bomb throwers.

Take your umbrella in school holidays.

Back at the hotel, it was time for a hard earned rest. Truth be told, I was exhausted but there was no time for sleep because tonight was the final cruise dinner - even though we were on land. Tomorrow our group would be heading for all parts of the compass. Some, like us, were staying in Amsterdam at other hotels, a group were heading for Paris, others for England to join an ocean cruise, or to Scotland to catch up with family. Some were even returning home.

I know I've commented on the concept of service in Europe previously dear reader, but the dinner was next level. It was a buffet style meal and all three courses were put out at the one time in 'choose your own adventure' fashion. The way the food was arranged did not lead to the formation of an organised line. The wine, it was announced to applause, was a continual pour - if you could attract the attention of the wait staff. Their role appeared to be to stand at the wall, dressed smartly, looking superior, demonstrating their ability to ignore anyone who wanted something from them. There was no risk of over indulging on alcohol, not that that was on my list anyway.

Despite the logistical challenges, it was a lovely evening and we got to spend time with all the people who had become a part of our lives over the last two weeks. Andrew organised a sneaky farewell speech to thank Hedleigh, our cruise director, and then it was time for bed. A number of people were flying out early in the morning and those that weren't would see each other at breakfast.

Until tomorrow.