Amsterdam

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Oh how I love, love, love

Amsterdam

See, I love it so much I even used the "elegant heading". Because Amsterdam deserves an elegant heading, dammit!

However, I wasn't quite so happy when I arrived. I had about 40 euros on me, and after following the guys around as they cursed the exorbitant parking fees (30 fucking euros) I took off. Well, I had a sandwich first. After that I just sort of wandered around.

I had a vague idea about looking up the girl who had hosted me on my last visit, but when I finally found the house, there was no answer. So, I wandered around some more. Did I mention that I love Amsterdam? I sat down on the bank of a canal and sipped a beer, I read, I watched people. I tried the house a few times, but with no luck.

Now, one thing about Amsterdam I don't like are the prices. It's damn expensive, especially when the exchange rate is so shit. The Icelandic krona only buys half the amount in euros it did last year, so A'dam is fairly pricey for me. So, at the end of the day, I was running fairly low on cash - not aided by the fact that I like beer. I did spring for a joint to help me sleep, since I realized I'd have to sleep outside. I didn't mind so much, it was warmer and less humid than Swanley, and I managed to find a fairly secluded spot. I don't recommend it though, since it is apparently illegal. Great, that should solve the problem! Just make homelessness (and my voluntary hoboism) illegal, and I'm sure everyone will magically find a home. Pfft.

Now, after a somewhat broken night's sleep, I got up and wandered some more. They call me the wanderer, yeah, the wanderer.

I had enough money to buy a pack of cigarettes, and after chatting to the girl in the shop about how ridiculous the prices are getting, I stepped outside. And found a 20 euro note! Hells yeah! Like any reasonable person would, I got myself a beer. Mostly it was to buy a seat. A soft, padded, non-bench seat. After nursing the beer for a while, I went over to the Damrak. That's the street with all the tourists. After a few hours of endlessly circling the Damrak - Spuistraat area, I sat down on the bridge in front of the Centraal Station (that's Dutch for "central station") and begged for money/food. It worked...until the fecking fuzz showed up and told me it was illegal to beg without simultaneously playing some sort of instrument. Covering yourself in silver paint and standing still seems to be allowed too, but as luck would have it, I'd just run out of silver face paint.

So, I ate the sandwich I had earned (through my magical ability to look non-threatening and slightly pathetic whilst sitting in the street reading) and spent a few cents (that's eurocents) on a small can of beer. I sat down on the Damrak to enjoy it, and had just drained the last drops from the can when...the fucking cops showed up again. This time they informed me that drinking beer from a can was illegal. I pointed out that, technically, I wasn't drinking the beer, and turned the can upside down to demonstrate. They still found it prudent to escort me to the nearest trash can and watch me drop the can in there. I said something along the lines of "I suppose that sleeping outside is illegal too! Huh!". And they told me that yes, it was. However, being the helpful civil servants that they were, they advised me to go to the Leger des Heils, which I later found out is Dutch for "The fucking Salvation Army". So, following the excellent directions they gave me, I walked around for an hour in the red light district until somebody realized what I was looking for and gave me the actual address, which was right next to the place where I'd started. Thank you, assholes.

I knocked on every door I could see and rang every bell, but there was no answer. I found the police station, and who should greet me, all smiles and malevolent giggles, but the two beer-detectives. They had neglected to mention that the Salvation Army only takes you in if you show up before two in the afternoon. When I got slightly annoyed at the fact that mybe they could have fucking metioned this a bit sooner, they told me I should just go stay in a hotel. So, the other thing I don't like about Amsterdam are the cops. Well, I pretty much hate cops everywhere, so nothing surprising there.
I left the police station muttering obscenities, and sat down in the only place I could find that was a) out of the wind, b) had a seat and c) was well lit. For those wondering, that place was 'by the phallic thing on the Dam'. I soon found out that said phallic thing is a hangout for unsavoury characters trying to sell hard drugs. I was broke, and not really in the mood for heroin, so I passed. A stranger struck up a conversation, warning me about the drug dealers and offering me a place to sleep. In exchange for a...massage. Surprisingly, he wanted to massage me, but I declined. Well, eventually.

So, it was the middle of the night. I was tired. I didn't really want to hang out around the phallus anymore, so I pulled out a map and studied it. Suddenly a street name jumped out at me. Hey, that's where Keith lives! To explain: Keith had also hosted me during my last trip to Amsterdam, but has since stopped hosting. It had occurred to me to look him up, but up to that point I could only remember two things about him. His first name was Keith, and his dog's name was Benny. Those are not exactly helpful details. Having the approximate address, however, helps.
I had no idea if he still lived there or if he'd remember me, or if he remembered me and would therefore slam the door in my face. I decided I didn't have much to lose, so I walked over there and spent the next hour or so looking at people's names on doorbells. I finally found his, so I mustered all my courage and...walked around a bit more. Did I mention it was four in the morning? I may have a certain insane desperation, but I'm not crazy enough to knock on someone's door that early/late. Luckily, the next day was trash day, and the sidewalks were littered with stuff for pickup. Including a lovely blanket, which I grabbed without hesitation.
I then took a seat on a bench in some sort of park, read and waited.


The next morning, after spending the night alternately sitting on the bench, curled up under my new woollen blanket, and walking in circles around the neighbourhood (getting quite a few suspicious glances), I decided to risk ringing the bell. Then I decided to give it another hour or so. As I passed the same market for the fifth time, the vendor offered me an apple, which woke me up nicely.
I spent a little time looking for cigarettes and was lucky enought to find a pack with two whole Winston superlights. Better than nothing.
At around half past nine, I rang the bell. Keith answered and I stuttered something about having stayed there two years ago and having a huge favour to ask. He buzzed me in.
So, I walked up the narrow stairs, and prepared to be kicked in the face. And by kicked, I mean 'laughed at'. (Wait, laughed at in the face? Whatever.)

Surprisingly, Keith didn't laugh. I asked him to lend me five euros so I could buy a pack of cigarettes, and promised to come back later that day to pay him back. And he did - the silly man fell for it! Not only that, but he offered me a place to stay. Laughing maniacally, I went back out and walked all the way across town to the World Trade Center (which is apparently Dutch for World Trade Center) to look for the embassy. After way, way, way too much walking, in very warm weather, I finally got there. However, nobody had ever heard of an Icelandic embassy, so I spent a good deal of time walking back and forth between the enormous buildings, until a helpful employee looked it up and pointed me towards the consulate. So, kids, never trust the official website of the Icelandic foreign ministry. They lie, the bastards!

I found the consulate, waited in the lobby for the consul to return from lunch and gulped the Fanta the girl in reception offered me. The consul was Norwegian or something, but he let me use the phone and gave me ten fucking euro so I could take a bus back. Brilliant. I didn't pay for the bus, but I got back. My mom had transferred money, so I went to Western Union to pick it up. I also had chicken, because I was fucking starving.
I walked back to Keith's, but his neighbor informed me that Keith and Benny had gone for a walk. I walked around until I bumped into them, paid Keith back the five euros, and took him up on his offer for a place to stay.

Now, the last time I stayed there, Keith had some fish. The living room was full of fish, his bedroom was full of fish, the spare room was full of fish. This time, no fish. Instead, he had three ferrets: Sandy, Susie and Snowy. The former two are female, adorable and affectionate, but Snowy is an albino lump of pent-up aggression. He really enjoyed biting my feet, and that wee bastard is devious. In the corner of the living room, there's a computer desk with a sliding shelf for the keyboard. That is a no-go zone for the ferrets, but Snowy didn't care, 'cause he plays by his own rules, man. So, anytime he went up there, I'd get up and use a can of compressed air to hiss him down. After a while he devised a game; he'd scramble up there, I'd go over to get the can, getting about half way across the floor before a vicious blur of yellowish fur would lauch itself at my exposed feet, at which point I'd yelp and jump back on the couch. This would than be repeated until it was time for the monster to return to its cage (it is so rarely that one gets to use that phrase non-euphemistically, so it's almost worth the scars).

The next few days I spent lounging around, scratching Benny, smoking weed and watching in endless fascination as Sandy and Susie rolled around, playing and dooking (yes, 'dooking' is a word). On the first of June, my mother ordered a plane ticket for me, and I finally got money.



I managed to spend that fairly quickly, so that when it was time for me to leave, I could only afford the ticket to Eindhoven through sheer luck (sound familiar?)
First, the cashbox-thing on the bus was broken, so I didn't have to pay for that. Secondly, I bought a discount ticket (which I'm pretty sure was supposed to require some sort of special card or secret handshake or something). The guard on the train barely glanced at it, though, so I actually got to Eindhoven. That was only the first stop. I had to get to the actual airport. Now, I was waiting for mom to transfer money so I could get the bus to the crappy fucking airport and, more importantly (or less, since getting to the airport was kind of a prerequisite), so I could buy cigarettes and booze at the duty-free.

Slight problem: time zones. Amsterdam is two hours ahead, banks in Iceland open at 9:15, I needed to be at the airport by 11:30 at the latest. In addition, I needed do call home to get the confirmation code, but I only had about fifty cents. So, I went to the Western Union window and talked to the clerk. She lent me a euro, because apparently I inspire generosity in people. Or she thought it was an easy way to get rid of me. Either way, I had enough money to make the call. The guard at the station lent me a pen to write the code down, and I could collect the money. I paid the clerk back, returned the pen, and caught the next bus to the airport.


So, I was on my way "home". I wasn't happy about it, but hey. Whatever. I had fun. I met some cool people. I was insanely lucky. I played with ferrets. I ate surinamese chicken. All in all, good times.


Of course, I wouldn't have been able to do it without the help of some extremely cool people, including (but not limited to) Atli, Halldór, Sara, her grandma, the clerk at the WU in Eindhoven, the consul, the apple-vendor, the woman who gave me the change in De Panne, Ian the hitchhiker, the people who gave me money and food on the bridge in Amsterdam, the woman who bought me cigarettes in Brussels, George, his mother and brother, Eric and the other Belgians (and I cannot apologize enough for not remembering their names), the hosts at the barbeque, Gosia and Stephane (and Laika), everybody who gave me directions and all those who offered me rides, Mohamad, the concierge at the hotel in Calais, the mysterious crisp man, the bemused Brits who bought my pounds, and everyone else I am forgetting.

I have to give extra special thanks to Keith, whom I absolutely love, Benny and the ferrets. But especially Keith. (Keith, if you should read this, do send me a message and let me know what's going on).


Lastly, I must thank my mother, without whom none of this would have been possible, and whom I simply cannot thank enough with words, ever.

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Photos

Amsterdam
Pigeons. And some people, probably about to get eaten by the pigeons.

Coffeshop kitty
Awww...stoned kitty is adorable.

Crane
These are the coolest birds I have ever seen. And by cool, I mean goofy.

Windmills
I think it's part of a museum of some sort. Or, it might be a giant.

Ohh, shiny.
Hey, look, a shiny plaque. For people who were murdered by Nazis. How fucking depressing.

Boots
Giant boots! Aaagh! What? Oh, boats. Right. I knew that.

Benny
Awww...rolling doggy is adorable.

Susie
I'm not torturing her, I'm making her yawn. Yawning is ferret for 'I'm sorry for climbing on the table. Please put me down so I can be cute again!'

Snowy
Run! If you don't want your feet eaten, run!

Sandy
Sandy, queen of Benny's Basket!

Benny!
Why is it that you're not scratching my belly? Huh? See how adorable I am?

Susie jumping
Rare sighting of ferret in mid-jump. Ok so it's not so rare. But look! Jumpy!

Keith
If you see him, give him a hug. (No, don't, seriously. Give him a cup of tea or something)