Day Fifteen: North Sea Finale

Tuesday, June 10

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.

Pretty tasty steak sandwich

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.

When in the Netherlands, you find windmills all over, both new and old.

The highway out to Haarlem.

Sheep, canals, and highway.

Haarlem

 

Wild horses in Zuid-Kennermerland National Park.

North Sea!

Dunes. We both thought this would have made ideal terrain for a golf links.

Zandevoort, in the distance, reminded us both of Atlantic City, the urban tourist town by the sea.

Bike seating on the train.

A Netherlands-style power plant.

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.

This was quite a spot, seeing a gray heron on top of a car opposite us on the canal.

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.

The early-morning view from our hotel window.

A vacant shopping street in Amsterdam, decked out with Dutch-flags and soccer balls for the World Cup. 

The giant bike parking lot at the train station.

Day Fourteen: Museums In Amsterdam

Monday, June 9

I think we both tried to sleep a little later, with no real pressure to get up. Our only plans were for late in the day at the Anne Frank house, where we had a reservation. In the meantime, we prioritized things like breakfast. For my part, I was happy to be in a place where a hearty morning meal with eggs and toast were served rather than sliced meat and cheese or jam on a roll. Not that I don't like those things, but deli meat in the morning doesn't get me going in the same way.

As with the day before, we walked around with vague direction. Our first destination was the Jewish Museum and old Portuguese Synagogue. When we found that not only was there an admission fee but it was steeper than any of the churches, we balked and kept going.

We meandered our way over to the Rijksmuseum, the national gallery, which featured art by all of the prominent Dutch painters, including some of Vermeer's and Rembrandt's most important works. It was organized by period, with 20th century pieces on the top floor, where I most enjoyed the architectural imaginings of Hendrik Wijdeveld. His North Sea resort plan for Zandvoort was certainly space-age futuristic, but they seemed feasible in the not too-distant future for an ambitious engineering crew. On the main level, I really did enjoy the Vermeers and Rembrandts, but they were surrounded by lesser works that seemed to be given equal weight through presentation by the gallery, and even in this early part of tourist-season they were mobbed by people with flash cameras and pointy elbows to the extent that I didn't particularly enjoy lingering for too long in front of the pieces I liked most. I'm not a huge fan of the Dutch Baroque art in general, and I gravitated most to Rembrandt's "The Conspiracy Of The Batavians," which was the most distorted and almost impressionistic of the lot. The 19th century gallery was hardly different. The Netherlands' distinguished Vincent van Gogh was represented by a scant three pieces, two of them rather lesser works and one famous self-portrait that was swarmed by people. The impressionist section was also underwhelming, and perhaps my favorite piece in the 19th century section was Jan Willem Pieneman's "The Battle Of Waterloo;" however that was so big for the gallery it was placed in I felt the lighting didn't fairly capture the scope of the enormous painting. There were always parts of it lost in both the glare of the lights and the darkness outside where they weren't pointed. I'm glad I went, and it was a worthwhile experience to see the pieces I did like. The building itself was also impressive and beautiful in the areas in between the galleries, but all in all I think we were both disappointed by what the museum was lacking.

We walked a bit more around the park in the museum district, scoping out the Stedelijk (Modern and Contemporary) and Van Gogh museums, but we were not ready for another at the time. We strolled back in the direction of the hotel, trying some fried herring from a street cart along the way. Supposedly that's another Amsterdam staple, but the cart we got it from microwaved the fish before we ate it. It lacked the necessary crunch of good fried fish with tartar sauce. This certainly whet my appetite for more food, and we stopped in an Irish pub around 5PM, each getting burgers and a black and tan.

The steep two flights of stairs we climbed to get to the main lobby of our hotel each day. Then it was another two flights up to our room.

Street art

We ate breakfast at the cafe along the water opposite.

I love these buildings that bent with the street rather than having a perfect straight row of windows.

This reminded my mom of schools in Philly that were built in the early 20th century.

The Rijksmuseum

Hendrik Wijdeveld's Zandvoort resort proposal.

My mom is on the right

Basketball in the sun outside the museum.

Skating too.

Man-made forest.


After lunch, we hung out at the hotel, decompressing a bit and recovering from the heat, which got up to the low 80s during the day's peak. Then we headed over to the Anne Frank house, cutting the long line with our 7:40 reservation. It was absolutely a worthwhile visit. I half-expected going in you'd ride up to the annex in an elevator, look around, and head out. The museum was extremely well-curated though. Excerpts from her diary were painted on the walls and short videos telling the narrative and featuring those who knew her played in the rooms of the supporting buildings. As you made your way into her father Otto's office, scale models demonstrated how the annex was laid out during their time of hiding. Most of the interior belongings were removed when it was raided by the SS, and Otto had supervised the creation of the models so that the space itself should remain bare for people to view. By the time you walked into the annex, behind the bookcase still filled with binders from Otto's jam business, you were primed for the experience. Anne's walls were still covered in pictures of 1940s celebrities she was fond of, if preserved under plexiglass. A few other token items were displayed in the space, such as Otto's copy of a Charles Dickens book he was reading at the time to stay occupied while learning English.

At the top of the annex was an attic, which was viewable only by virtue of a mirror from the floor below, and then visitors proceeded into the next building over, where there was more space working back down the stairs to ground level reflecting on the families' experiences in concentration camps and the impact of Anne's work on the world and our perception of the Holocaust. I'd seen a film adaptation of the diary before, but being in the house certainly made me want to read the book itself. She was clearly a talented young individual with a knack for capturing the narrative of their story. The whole experience was particularly moving for my mom, who just finished reading the diary a few days prior.

Afterwards, we walked around the Jordaan again, looking for dinner. We settled in at a Spanish restaurant, where we got Rioja Blanco alongside three shared appetizers: salad with avocado, roasted peppers, and caramelized mushrooms, pan-fried squid in a sherry sauce, and clams in a white sauce. I thought the seafood was all good, but the standouts were really the sauces. I enjoyed sopping them up with bread as much as eating the protein.

I really enjoyed observing the different dynamic at restaurants in Germany and the Netherlands. Everywhere was self-seating. Maybe that's just the restaurants we stumbled into, but it was definitely the norm. I never saw a seating host anywhere. All of the servers also appeared to work together without a specific set of tables. In fact, multiple servers often came up to ask for our order after we'd sat down, and even after, they all continued to help out at every table, not that this necessarily made for better service. On the contrary, I felt like while they were interested in helping, there wasn't the same eagerness that I'd usually find from servers in America who are working for tips. Apparently they're paid better than teachers in Amsterdam with minimal tips, so maybe there was less incentive. Regardless, I find it refreshing to see people in the service industry treated well. Tap water was also not expected to be served. In Amsterdam they would get it if you asked, although I wouldn't expect it to have ice, be cold, or refilled unless I asked for those things as well. In Germany, they just wouldn't serve tap water. They'd come back with a bottle and charge as much as a glass of wine or beer. Fortunately alcoholic beverages were rather cheap, but I couldn't get my head around not having tap water. I think they must drink much less in general. Then, once served, we could expect to be left alone until going out of our way to ask for the check. There didn't seem to be a rush to turn over tables. I found it all fascinating.

We'd seen two ice cream places on our walks in the neighborhood with really long lines, so we thought we'd seek them out for dessert, but by the time we reached each of them, they were both closed. It would have to be a treat for another night.

Day Thirteen: Into Nederlands

Sunday, June 8

I was up early, thinking we had a train an hour earlier than we actually did. It was okay though because it gave us extra time to walk around Koblenz. After breakfast, we went for a morning stroll around the city, which I think made us both feel like we hadn't missed much by sleeping in town and spending the day out on the Mosel. There wasn't too much going on, at least in the area we walked, which reminded my mom of a college town.

Koblenz

The castle across the Rhine.

Looking south up the Rhine.

A nice Miró influenced mural.


This was a designated travel day with a regional train up the Rhine to Dusseldorf, where we switched to an international route terminating in Amsterdam. We were there by the beginning of the afternoon and had most of the day to walk around. Our first agenda was to get some food, and walking towards the Jordaan, the old city, we found a cafe where we each got savory pancakes. Mine was folded over like a quesadilla and stuffed with spinach and feta. My mom got an open face pancake with mushrooms and cheese. This is another concept, alongside flammkuchen, that I think has a lot of potential. I can't say this was the most delicious expression of savory pancakes. My mom certainly thought hers was a bit too cheesy, but this is definitely a meal idea I think I'd like to play with when I get home.

Most of the day we walked rather aimlessly, just following whatever caught our eyes, be it lingering canals, railings overflowing with bicycles, ornate old buildings, sleek new buildings with brilliant windows, cheese shops doling out free samples, tourist shops hocking clogs and orange Holland gear–they're in particularly high gear with the World Cup starting this week–tulip booths with more varieties than we knew existed, and so much more.  The city was so well-composed, with hardly a dull neighborhood. It had been brilliantly curated over the centuries, with preservation of the largely fine older buildings, while leaving room for interesting newer ones.

It was also extremely crowded, perhaps for the holiday weekend we'd been hearing about in Germany. The streets were bustling with bikers and pedestrians. As we soon found walking out of the train station, bikes had the right of way, then pedestrians, and last of all cars. Scooters, which there were a fair number of, also qualified as bikes for some reason. I think that's the one part of the traffic patterns I would change. Cars were few in number though, and for every fourth or fifth one that passed, there was also a trolley, the primary form of mass-transit in the city. I thought the whole thing functioned very well, and while it was packed, it wasn't congested, just full of life. Almost immediately I felt like this was a city I could live in, one I wouldn't be able to understand in a few days, but rather a destination to be slowly absorbed over a period of time. Maybe there's a theater festival…

We made the most of our time though, eventually ending up in Vondelpark on the south side of the city, where we sat in the grass for a while watching a bunch of roller-skaters do tricks. We speculated that with the tradition of skating on the canals all winter, rollerskating was much more popular in Amsterdam than America. Certainly we see they have great speed-skaters in the winter olympics.

When we continued walking, we passed through what seemed like a mall's worth of name-brand stores. None of them were big, like you might find on Fifth Avenue in New York. Buildings in Amsterdam were traditionally taxed by street frontage, so they tended to be built narrow and vertical. Most of the familiar clothing outlets had a shop–or in the case of H&M, five. It wasn't our focus, but I imagine many people go to Amsterdam just for the shopping. It was certainly a pretty place to do it and a nice pedestrian atmosphere.

As we got tired once more, we started looking for a place to have a late afternoon drink, but we liked the restaurant we stopped at enough to stay for dinner. Alongside a French rose, we shared two appetizers: a beef carpaccio with arugula and a sharp creamy salad dressing over top, and pan-fried prawns with some lemon juice. Seeing as we were finally near the sea, we deferred to seafood as well on the main courses, getting tuna and mackerel alongside other shellfish. Everything was very tasty, and as the dinner went on, we were surrounded by more people. Compared to all the cities I'd been traveling in, Amsterdam was a later-oriented town. We sat down in a fairly empty spot a bit after 7, but the restaurant was packed by the time we left around 8:45. While it's not quite like the city that never sleeps, it was definitely a big night-time metropolis. We didn't stay out too much longer though and got some extra sleep that night.

Farmland on our train into the Netherlands

Canals

 Convenient electric car parking/pumping.

The opera.

Bikes abound.

I loved this odd old building sitting alone in front of the gargantuan new one.

 Note the hooks at the top of the buildings, which were everywhere, probably to get things inside on upper floors (top left).