Day 7 - Amsterdam

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Day 7

Dong….Dong……Ding ..Dong……Dong …Ding….Ding fuckin’ Dong, fuckin’ ding….dong…dong….ohhhh stop it!!….ding…..please, please …..ding…dong …..AHHHHHHHHHH! Literally five feet from the window that I was sleeping, was a god damn church. It just wasn’t the fact that I ‘slept’ beside the window that faced the church, it was that some insensitive Dutch priest/minister/reverend decided to play with his bells for an hour at six o’clock in the morning. So needless to say, I got an early start to the day's’ festivities.

Baggy eyed and irritated, I ventured downstairs to the pub in an attempt to make up for the premature wakening with a nice Amsterdam/Irish breakfast. As all good breakfasts must start with a cup of fresh hot coffee, I ordered one from the bartender. A dollop of milk and a spoonful of sugar followed up with a wee giggle of the spoon and I had the fuel to fire up my day. Sip. Gulp. Uh…Og…OH the Horror! Miss Mindless, the helpless barkeep, mistakenly put salt in the sugar jar. I could have killed the useless nit. Better still, I should have done a rendition of Sunday Bloody Sunday on her vacant Irish melon. Simply put, that was the worst beverage I have ever ingested. Ever.

The food was not much better than the coffee. When I was served a slice of bread and a hardboiled egg for my meal, I should have just put up with the bells and gone back to bed. Coupled with the disastrous morning fare, I erroneously sparked up a conversation with two Yank chicks grazing nearby. In retrospect, I would have been better off tramping over to the church and sleeping right under the ringing bell. Over crumbs, I learned that the Bobsy Twits were going over to Anne Franks house. “Hey!” I thought out loud. “I’m going to Anne Franks house too. Mind if I tag along?” Oy vey…I should have had a second cup of the Saltuccino.

The three of us ventured out in search of Anne Frank's house. The first minute went by fairly smoothly, then…it went all to hell. For reasons unbeknownst to me, the pair thought that I wanted to ‘shop’ with them while they ventured in and out of every boutique in the Dam. As we inched our way towards the poor dead girl’s house, I stood by in disbelief watching the two rummage through the bargain bins. I passed the time by yanking out my hair…one by one. I was two inches up my forehead when I finally realized it was time to lose the losers. But how? First, I needed a plan. When they wandered in one shop, I would nonchalantly try to lose them by slipping into another. I found myself crouching beneath raunchy postcard booths and huddling behind piles of souvenir sweaters. Why didn’t I just tell the two that I had absolutely no interest shopping, shopping with them, or even being anywhere near them? Yet, for some unknown reason, I bit my tongue and followed the twits around until we finally arrived at Anne’s house. Thankfully, I was elated to see that the line approaching Anne’s place stretched for almost three city blocks. What a wonderful sight! I gleefully remarked that bounding through closets formerly belonging to long dead teenagers had lost some of it’s aura during our shopping excursion. Unfortunately, I would have to separate myself from their unfortunate company. However, before I bid farewell, I turned my head to the left, glanced down the street to see Anne’s place, stroked it off the to-do list and continued alone to Van Gogh’s museum.

The Van Gogh Museum was the first museum that I visited while in Europe. When I was in Belgium, I trudged the Great War battlefields and they could easily be classified as an interactive museum. However, this was the first one that charged admission. The Van Gogh museum housed most of Vincent Van Gogh’s most famous pieces. For those who are unfamiliar with Van Gogh, he was the poor chap who went and cut his fool ear off. And he also painted. To provide a quick review of the museum, the various sections followed the stages of Van’s life. To start, right next to the entrance covered his life from 0 to 16. My favourite was the one of a blue dog with one leg, one eye and a smiley face. Coincidentally, on the other side of the entrance to 0-16 was the section covering his works created in the later stages of his life, namely death. I could have done without seeing the soiled trousers hanging from a hook. The rest covered Van Gogh’s professional career.

The bulk of Van’s painting career took place between the years 1880 and 1890. In his earlier works, he focused on the odd portrait and a few seascapes. In the mid-career years he painted some jars, a fruit or two and a couple more headshots. My favourite works include, The Sunfower, The Bedroom, the Potato Eaters and The Skull of a Skeleton with Burning Cigarette. As I loitered amongst the wonderful masterpieces, the best description to the experiences was ‘cool’. Very cool. So cool…almost cold. Looking down to my arms, I noticed an army of little bumps. I was covered in goosebumps. It was friggin cold in there. This was not a bad thing. I forgot to mention, the temperature outside was boiling over at 110 degrees and the air conditioned comfort was very much welcomed and required. How cool? Very cool.

Eventually, boredom overcame my desire to remain cool and therefore, in early afternoon I struck back out on the town. Exiting the museum, like a closed fist, I was greeted with a blast of oppressive heat that almost knocked me down. My long slog back to the city centre felt akin to crossing the Gobi desert. “Water…need water…need respite from the heat…need come coolness to calm down my ripening, raw undercarriage…oh the agony.” Where does one go to when they are looking to be saved? Saved from the place of burning heat? In the distance, I saw my saviour. Rising from the ground in the distance was the glorious protestant church, New Church. Erected in 1620, New Church replaced Old Church or the Church formerly known as New Church but Got Old and Decrepit. The Dutch call it, De Nieuwe Kerk.

De Nieuwe Kerk was built in the 14th century. Its’ predecessor, the Oulde Kerk was located down the street and was constructed almost a century earlier. Upon entry, my eyes were greeted by the sight of a wonderful gothic cathedral. The interior was decorated with an amazing series of stained glass windows that were adorned by an assembly of marble carvings. Located in the centre of the cathedral was the masterpiece, the pulpit. The pulpit was made of carved marble and hugged the central pillars of the cathedral. The structure cumulated in a splendid platform that towered above the patrons sitting in the surrounding seats below. It was flanked by something called the “Tomb of the Old Dutch Mariner.” This carving was also made of marble and showcased the grave of a former great Dutch naval hero who died in a battle with the French. I wondered. I pondered. The wandering and pondering got me so parched I returned to Nellies for a couple pints and some well-earned, air-conditioned relaxation.

A combination of the pints, the heat and the early morning wake-up call resulted in my eyelids slowly beginning to meet each other in increasingly lengthy embraces. I spent the rest of the afternoon recapturing some well required sleep. Upon waking, I stared at the ceiling, watched the time go by and awaited the arrival of my two favourite Austrians, Melanie and Veronica. We planned to meet up and once again paint the town a smoky shade of green. Our agenda for the evening included one solitarily task…get really, really stoned. We set our sights on a coffee huis located on the other side of downtown. Our journey called for us to traverse about ten lengths of canal before reaching our destination. Our target was a smoke shop named after the legendary drug-using-band led my one overdosed dead guy, The Doors Coffee Huis.

How can I summarize the evening in the most simplest of words? ‘Fascinating’. The three of us smoked and smoked and smoked till our hearts and lungs were content. We sat around a small round table in the tiny café and stared chinese eyes at one another while trying to decipher what each other was saying. You see, Veronica and Melanie were both from Innsbruck, Austria and could barely speak a word of English. Sorry, they could speak the language…it was just I couldn’t understand the German dialect they were using. To amuse themselves, they tried to teach me some German slang. I listened intently and then repeated the words. Well, I tried to repeat the words but found myself vanquishing in my white-bread, non-conformist English dialect. I just couldn’t do it. One of the most captivating parts of our conversation was when we just sat back and drew pictures on the backs of beer coasters. You should see the masterpiece recreated by Melanie. She gave it to me as a gift. I think I will keep it. I will keep it as a memento of our evening at The Doors coffee huis.

At 1AM we were discharged and once again, stumbled out to tackle another Amsterdam evening. Goed nacht vriends!

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