Spill the Wine (Amsterdam - final)

This is my final post for this Odyssey, dear reader. As such, there may be photos dropped in from anywhere on the trip.

As Sunday clawed its way into the conscious of Amsterdammers, the street cleaners were once again hard at work. The piles of detritus on a Sunday morning were larger than those from yesterday. It also appeared that some sort of bike-hating monster had ranged the streets, pushing bikes over and stacking them in doorways to stop people leaving their apartments.

The off-limits rotunda in Vondelpark

Amsterdam is not pretty in the early morning, dear reader. The fact that streets are so dirty is probably the only aspect of the city that we dislike. And so, to breakfast. Today we found a café up near the flower market. Once again the coffee was very good. I don't get what was going on with the coffee in Hungary, Austria and Germany. Lift your game. Today's food fare was toasties - an Americano for me (bacon, tomato and cheese - not sure why this is American but anyway) and a Hawaiian for Jayne (ham, cheese and pineapple) which she requested, without the Hawaiian component, eliciting a second look and a slight smirk from the server and a shake of the head from me. 

We briefly entertained the thought of sending some tulip bulbs home to the (current) favourite child who lives in the Southern Highlands. Only to be informed that export to Australia is not permitted. Indeed, the flower seller we spoke with said, "Absolutely not. I can send nothing to Australia". No Dutch tulips.

A photo without people in Vondelpark is not easy.

Sunday is a quiet day and many shops were not open. We walked around an area near the hotel where we had not previously been but there wasn't much to see. Aside from the Rijksmuseum and Rembrandt's House we have covered just about all the major attractions and it was a deliberate decision not to visit these two places.

In reality, we were just burning time until we met friends from home. They arrived yesterday to do the reverse of our trip, Amsterdam to Budapest, although with a different company. We had arranged to meet at Café Luxembourg for drinks at 4pm which was peak pedestrian time in the hospitality areas of Leidseplein and Spui. 

Flowers in Durnstein

As we wove our way towards our rendez-vous, a car pushed its way across the crowded footpath to try to enter the main street. There was oncoming traffic which included a tram. The driver astutely decided that the nose of his car was in danger so he did what any Amsterdammer would do; without any indication, he put his car into reverse and started to retreat onto the footpath he had just crossed, paying absolutely no attention to the fact that there were numerous pedestrians behind him, Jayne and me included. After the initial collision with my arm, a lightening fast assessment of the situation resulted in me drawing the attention of the driver to my presence by belting the back of his car. I also let him know bluntly, that I was not impressed with his cavalier disregard for pedestrians. As a memento of this encounter, I now sport a bruise on my arm and the driver is currently searching for a job involving sex and travel.

Having survived the near-death experience, we made it to Cafe Luxembourg which was crowded, as expected, but we nabbed a table, collected chairs and took up residence. We did not recognise any of the wait staff and were generally ignored until Jayne lassoed a passing waiter. Shortly thereafter, a beer and a bottle of 'room temperature' chablis arrived. Unconcerned, we chatted with Dave and Vikki and enjoyed the afternoon.

Don't I look fabulous?

Then on to dinner back at Peppinos, that restaurant we so enjoyed the night before last. The restaurant quadrant was filling up with all sorts of interesting people. There was the ubiquitous hen's party from the UK. Each of the girls was wearing a T-shirt with a number, handwritten on the back. Except one, ah, young lady. Her t-shirt said PTO. I'll just leave that there, in case my speculation gets me into trouble.

Our table under the awning provided an excellent view of the passing parade. We ordered some wine and sat chatting as we waited for the first of the meals to arrive. In a brave show of daring and imagination, we had the same entrees as last time. 

Canal life

The title today, dear reader, is somewhat misleading because we didn't spill any wine. (A classic song by Eric Burdon and the Animals, 1970). Neither did our waiter. However, he spilled our entire dinner. All four of them. Somebody had clearly moved a chair by the door to the restaurant, the one that the wait staff use to access the kitchen. Out comes our waiter, tray held high, obscuring his view and then he was gone from sight. Risotto and pasta went flying across the street as our waiter was sent sprawling to the ground. He was clearly shaken and hurt but appeared at our table, still wearing our food on his clothes and in his beard, to apologise for the delay. We were more concerned about him than we were about a delay in our food arriving at the table.

We chatted with him later in the evening. He was still very apologetic but had changed clothes by this time and his injured hand was in a glove with some ice to keep the swelling down.

Sculpture in the garden of the Rijksmuseum

After a very enjoyable evening, we farewelled Dave and Vikki and dawdled back to the hotel for our last night in Amsterdam.

There is not much to report from that point. We were picked up next morning and dropped at the airport. Jayne witnessed an unusual sight in the lounge: a woman, clearly the indecisive type, conducting her own wine tasting at the bar, prior to selecting what she wanted to drink. That was new.

The quintessential Dutch view.

The plane was late leaving which truncated our time at Dubai Airport. We arrived back in Australia on time at 10pm, Sydney time. Europe is such a long way from home and we were in transit for around 28 hours. Despite the discomfort of long distance travel, we are planning our next European assault.

European Reflections

1. The triple US cancers of McDonalds, Burger King and Starbucks are everywhere. Sadly.

2. Cigarettes. Everyone still smokes. Surprisingly. In Amsterdam their smoke smells sweet and strangely reminds me of my undergraduate days at uni.

3. Service. The further east you travel across Europe, the less enthusiastic the service becomes. In fact, many wait staff were afflicted by RBF - not all, of course, some were delightful, but there were many who clearly did not enjoy their work.

4. Sheets. What is it with Europeans and doonas? The doonas are arctic rated and there is no sheet between the doona and you. It is either melt or freeze.

5. Hotel housekeeping can be 'a choose our own adventure' experience: depending who is on duty, you might get your towels changed but not your bed made, you might get your bed made but not your cups and glasses cleaned, you might not get the room attended to at all ...

6. Language #1. A very important Dutch word, 'ongezouten'. It means 'unsalted'. Ignore it at your peril.

7. Language #2. Some of the European languages are seriously taking the piss. In Dutch for instance, the menu is tagged "Eten and Drinkenen". Really? Eating and drinking?

8. COVID. COVID is referred to as "the corona". No one wears a mask, ever, anywhere. If you see a mask it is probably covering the face of an Australian.

Until next time ... November ... Vanuatu.

Rose Garden (Amsterdam day 5)

Good morning dear reader. This Saturday morning saw Amsterdammers walking, jogging, cycling, playing netball, volleyball and soccer, doing yoga and any number of other unseen activities. That's not quite true. We did witness all of those activities in Vondelpark but it was closer to lunch than to breakfast. The locals we spotted this morning were all working, cleaning up from last night's festivities. The summer holiday is coming to an end this weekend apparently.

No reason and out of context. I just like birds.

Today is our first true lay-day of the trip because we have nothing organised except dinner at Momo. Why there? Well, Amex offered me money back on an overseas dining experience and Momo is all of 5 minutes walk from our hotel.

We slept late, well a little later and walked back to Café Luxembourg for breakfast. A walk through one of the bar/restaurant areas in the morning before it has re-opened, or before the street cleaners have through, can be confronting. I'm always amused that Paris is constantly criticised for being "dirty" and yet we have found Amsterdam to be less clean. Perhaps the street cleaning squads that work tirelessly have made the population complacent, but the morning detritus of broken bottles, discarded cans, fast food packaging, cigarette butts and more could not be missed by anyone who was out and about before 9am.

Random picture to break up the text. It's in Vondelpark. Nope. No idea.

Anyway, on to Café Luxembourg because I espied on their menu, when we were there yesterday, croque monsieur et madame. Who can resist ham and cheese and bechamel sauce? Not this little black duck as Daffy used to say. 

As you might imagine, dear reader, there was no trouble getting a table at this time of day. We were seated under the awning directly in front of the restaurant window in Paris style seating. The espresso shot to commence the day was welcome. My croque monsieur was as enjoyable as Jayne's croque madame. Ick. Egg. And the second coffee, a long espresso, capped a great breakfast.

The traffic and passing parade was commensurately reduced, given the time of day. But there were still the amusing antics of bike riders and pedestrians. A local homeless person walked unsteadily toward us, approached our table and leaned in, mumbling something in French I think, before being scared away by one of the wait staff. That was about as exciting as it got. Then off to Vondelpark to find the rose garden. Unlike the 1970 song by Lynn Anderson, we were promised a rose garden and I was determined to find it.

The man after whom the park is named.

The walk to the garden is a common path for us. However, the sights today were not. It's Saturday and all those bucks and hens parties from the UK had arrived over night and were wandering the streets of Amsterdam in hormone fuelled packs. Or were merely attempting to find their accommodation. It rekindled memories of Budapest. I can't imagine too many people on the continent are sad about Brexit. I don't know where this tradition commenced or how it has grown to what it is today, but cheap, trashy and tawdry is all I see. No pictures. I don't wish to encourage them.

Not a rose garden in sight

Did you guess? It's a fountain.

A home for the bees.

We walked one complete side of the park and refused to yield a rose garden. We paused for a few kodak moments, like the cat in the shrub. 

What are you doing puss? There are no birds there.

I watched it and I still have no idea what it was doing. Around the bottom of the park and heading for home, there were fountains and flowers and statues and finally a rose garden. It was well past its best, but you get the concept from the pictures. It would have looked quite spectacular a couple of weeks ago.

The other aspect of today was a new spectator sport. Our room overlooks a rent-a-bike establishment. I'm not sure who has the most fun, the people that work there or Jayne and me. Watching people observing the ruling, "it's like riding a bike" and then find that riding a bike is not so easy 40 years later has been a hoot. This morning, child gets on bike and rides off. Dad gets on bike, pedals, gets the death wobbles (at low speed) and falls over. Gets up, squares his shoulders, looks at his wife and wheels away very unsteadily. I've seen drunks negotiate a better line. Then mum, feeling superior and smirking away at her husband's indignity rides off with the stand down. She almost comes a cropper too, stops, kicks up the stand and pedals away. I'm just sad I can't see these people hit the cycleways of Amsterdam, the most unforgiving of paths. This scene, or something similar, was repeated with monotonous regularity. If only the hotel had a café or bar looking out onto this area. I'd be there as much as possible.

And so to dinner and Momo. Conceptually not our gig. It is certainly aimed at a demographic from which we have graduated. That said the food was amazing. We appreciated everything we ate, loved some, enjoyed some, thought some was next level. We didn't agree on every dish because we have different tastes. The sushi tempura prawn was next level, I could eat it all night. Jayne's favourite was the beef skewer. Service was attentive and helpful. If only we could transport this to a restaurant where there wasn't another hen's night party in the room or a DJ playing mindless music ... yeah, ok, I'll go to bed now.

Until tomorrow.