We slept a bit later again our last day because we didn't have any real agenda, but once we got up, we created a more ambitious one. Originally we had chosen to go to the Rijksmuseum because it seemed like the museum that would give us a window into all of the famous Dutch artists. We ultimately found it trying to do too much though, having very little Van Gogh–whose work I was most interested in–and a lot of pieces we didn't care for as much. There was a Van Gogh Museum though, and after doing some research online that morning, it seemed like there was significant stuff to see there. Unlike most artists, Van Gogh was a virtual unknown during his time, so his estate retained a great deal of his work, as it had never been sold.
We took off as soon as we could, stopping along the way just long enough to grab a croissant and cappuccino. We reached the Van Gogh museum a little after 10, beating the rush and seeing what we both thought was a much stronger, if smaller exhibit than the Rijksmuseum. It was a great window into his progression as an artist, from his dark and unfocused early student work right through his last vibrant unfinished painting. With the whole of his artistic life lasting little more than ten years before his death at the age of 37, it made for a manageable exhibit across three floors, supplemented by pieces from peers and admirers. It was particularly interesting to see his evolution during his two years in Paris, where he was influenced by prints of Asian art with bright colors he tried imitating, even painting re-interpretations of these prints.
After the museum, we got lunch, stopping at a place we saw on the way back towards the hotel. I got a steak sandwich that was much more grandiose than anything you'd find at your local Philly sandwich shop. The French fries were also terrific, and my mom rhetorically asked, "Why can't anybody make them like this in the states?" I said, "They do, but just not so consistently." Like getting pizza in Italy, they were terrific everywhere we went. You can get great pizza in America too, but the baseline is much lower. My mom was a little less impressed with her chicken-based sandwich, but it seemed to do the job.
Feeling we'd seen enough of Amsterdam, we decided to spend our final afternoon biking out of the city, seeing a bit more of the Netherlands. We headed to Haarlem, a smaller town an hour's ride west towards the North Sea. As in Germany, there were proper transportation accommodations for all, with bike lane, highway, canal, and train line running parallel the whole way out. It started to rain a bit on the way, but there was little we could do, so we kept peddling and did a little tour through the city in the drizzle before locking our bikes up on a rack conveniently kept dry by a few large trees.
In town, we made immediately for a cafe on the main square where we got drinks and finally tried bitterballen (Dutch dumplings.) They were a bit like fried turkey stuffing with I believe cheese and potato. I'd been after a decent cider for a bit and had previously been stymied by restaurants that were temporarily out, so I ordered one when I got the chance at this cafe, only to find I got a sugary berry-flavored variety made by a brand called Jillz, and my mom got a Radler Grapefruit that was also a bit too exotic for her taste. It was a good excuse to rest and get out of the rain though.
We tried to go see the main church and stumbled into an exhibit on the outside of the building run by two lovely older Dutch people, one of whom had spent 27 years living in New York, dating back to the early 60s. She had fond memories of my neighborhood in the Village when it was a different kind of bohemian place than the one I live in today. It was also ironic, speaking to them, because when they asked me where in New York I lived, I told them, "Well, I'm moving to Harlem when I get back" (named by the Dutch for the town we were currently in.) When we asked what the exhibit was about, the man there tried to explain "stripping," which we eventually realized meant "comic strips," particularly depicting both world wars and Vietnam. Some of them were quite interesting, but we soon got on our way, unable to find an open door to the church.
The people at the exhibit asked us where we were off to, and when I explained that we'd considered going the extra 20 minutes or so to the North Sea but were unsure if the rain would hold out, they definitely encouraged us to go for it. They gave us a map, and we plotted a route straight out to the sea, and then south to the larger town of Zandevoort, where we could catch a train back to Amsterdam. They couldn't have been more right. While the signage again fooled us, and we weren't sure whether we were going exactly the right direction, we trusted our instincts through the rolling sand dunes of Zuid-Kennermerland National Park, even catching wild horses roaming around. We snapped a few pictures of the sea before heading to the train station to check times and get tickets. We found we had an extra 45 minutes to spare, so we locked the bikes up at the station and got to dip our feet in the water, which was surprisingly warm. It was amusing seeing barely alive palm trees and hearing Caribbean music playing at the beach. That particular island culture has been so pervasive that you could find its influence on this so radically different beach.
Back in Amsterdam, we got gelato before dinner, trying out a place we'd seen a very long line at the day before. While everything was tasty, I think we agreed that my mocha was the best. Then we went back to the Jordaan, where we again split three appetizers: artichoke and asparagus salad, scallops with bacon, and ravioli in a tomato-lemon sauce. Enjoying the atmosphere on our final night, we stayed for a second dessert too, getting a glass of Banyuls (Port-like dessert wine from Southern France) and the chocolate surprise, which consisted of a small cake, a shot of chocolate milk with Khalúa, and excellent mousse featuring tasty black cherries on the side.
After dinner, we took a brief walk back to the hotel, knowing our trip was over. We didn't get to ride a boat in the canals after all. It had been part of our agenda, but we found other things that were at least as enjoyable. I tried to convince my mom she just had to come back, and preferably get to Venice, where I thought the canals were even more elegant. Amsterdam's canals were gorgeous, but so planned and utilitarian by comparison. In Venice, buildings seemed to be fighting against the water, meandering down alleys that were not otherwise accessible. The canals there function where streets would be impractical and flooded, rather than in Amsterdam, where there was room carved out for industrious boats alongside roads for cars, trolleys, bikes, and pedestrian traffic.
We were up by 5 the next morning and off to the train station before 6. I had a 9AM flight, which arrived back in New York shortly after 11. It was a nice trip, but I was ready to get back home, and continue carving out a life for myself in America. I was back at my music school in northern Manhattan later that afternoon, and things quickly got back to normal. Perhaps more than I'd experienced before, my time in Europe seemed ephemeral. I trust I'll be back again, but the day to day in New York has a way of seeming so distant from life over there. It's part of why I love working at the wine shop so much, representing quintessentially European farmers. For now, there are no plans to go back, but with any luck, I'll have more projects come my way that will take me on another adventure. Until then, it's been a pleasure writing, and thanks to those of you who've read along.
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