Amsterdamage 3

Amsterdam Is Still Here …

August 14

… and so am I.

The maid showed up on the morning of the 14th. We had been expecting her on the following day. The place was in no shape to be swept and dusted.  There was all manner of clutter—stuff in ashtrays and the like—so Larry decided to reschedule.

I think she is coming back the day after he leaves.

We went photographing canals today. I made a video from one bridge on the Reguliersgracht from which you can see at least seven others. 

The first beer of the day was a short Grolsch at Cafe Van Zuylen on a bridge called Torensluis over the canal called Singel. I also had half a space cake in my pocket, so I ate that. The photo of the day is one of the views from the bridge.

We strolled down the street to the next place, where I had something with a picture of monks on the tap. At the third place, right next door, I had a lager that was new to me. All I recall is the word “Dutch” on the tap.

Larry had to meet someone at the Hemp at 4, so he took off while I wandered around this part of town. I was to meet him there at 5:30. I actually knew how to get there: go to the Herengracht and head east until I get to Utrechtsestraat. Then I look for Frederiksplein, which is a park, and head for the trees.

I walked the bike over to the Dam Square, which is where the palace, the Grand Hotel Krasnapolsky, the Nieuwe Kerk, and all the tourists in Amsterdam are. It’s also where the Wynand Fockink distillery is. 

They serve a liqueur called Bierblomme, which is a distillation of beer made by a Belgian brewery called De Ryck. I had a shot of it with a De Ryck ale chaser. The liqueur tasted strongly of licorice, like anisette. The ale is available on tap only here out of all the bars in Amsterdam.

I followed that with an oude jenever—old-style gin—accompanied by a glass of real Budweiser, from Budwar in the Czech Republic, the first since my trip to Prague last fall.

Wynand Fockink is where I waited out the first rain. When it let up, I decided that since I had been wandering for a while, it was about time to find my bearings and make my way back to the Hemp. After a couple of false starts and a few minutes sheltered from a second rain, I found the Herengracht and turned the wrong way. But I didn’t have far to go when the canal ran out. I had to ask a few tourists for directions, but they know as much as I did. Then I found a local.

The lady wanted to direct me out this street or that until I come to the railroad station, etc. No, please. I want to follow the Herengracht the long way around to Utrechtsestraat. Just point me in the right direction. I’m too stoned to take a short cut.

I had one beer at the Hemp. Larry was interviewing his friend Barry who was commenting on samples from Derry. This whole trip has had an obsessive rhyme scheme, right?

Larry had ridden through the rain, so he wanted to go back to the apartment to change into dry clothes before we went out for pizza. (Yes, the dinner party fell through.) I waited at the Hemp. I fell asleep in an easy chair in the lobby. Kids came in from time to time to smoke joints.

I found myself on a couple of occasions making noises in the back of my throat and that woke me up. For all I know I could have been sitting in the middle of a stoners’ convention snoring my heart out. If so, maybe they thought it was part of the buzz.

We ate good pizza somewhere. I don’t know where, because I was stoned and Larry was leading the way, so all I had to do was keep him in sight and stay upright on the bike. I may have had another beer with my pizza Margherita.

I fell off the bike twice (Larry says three times) on the way back. I had one last beer and hit the rack around 10 or 11, I guess. At least, I think that was yesterday.

God bless us every one.

Still Amsterdamming

August 15

After I sent yesterday’s e-mail, I went out for coffee, as usual, and then came back and read some of the lead stories in the New York Times online. We left around 2 for a 3 p.m. boat ride.

We stopped on the way at a place called Brecht for a beer and a chance to eat my first cake of the day. Near Brecht was de Togamaker, with some kind of lord's or lawyer's rig in the window.

Then we rode to Leidseplain, where the boat is. By the way, you can find all these places on Google Maps, which even has street views. 

The boat is a daytime activity of an improvisational comedy group called Boom Chicago. It seems the boat tours were at some past time given by somebody else, who didn’t have a license and kept running afoul of the authorities. Yes, they have authorities even here.

Although everyone was invited, I didn’t go back last night for the show, but the boat ride was terrific. 

It’s a small open thing, and Larry and I were sitting on the stern.

We had to duck to go under some of the canal bridges. They sell cans of beer onboard, and passing joints is commonplace.

The city looks different from the lower perspective of the water. the host, one of the founders of Boom Chicago, is an American ex-pat who has lived in Amsterdam for 20 years. We passed Sir Michael’s house overlooking the Prinsengracht. We passed under the old drawbridge, known as the Skinny Bridge. I have bicycled across it over the Amstel, but not traveled under it before.

We passed through narrow canals in the oldest parts of the city where the doors open right on the canals. In the old days, people and goods were transferred directly from boats into houses. 

One bar had a float-up window facing the canal. We wanted to pull up there but couldn’t convince the crew.

I saw other important landmarks, like the sign of the Bush Docter coffeeshop in the Herengracht. Today’s photo is a shot of crooked houses and the Bush Docter sign as seen from the Boom Chicago boat on the Herengracht.

We may also have been on the Keizersgracht, where I stayed the first time I was in Amsterdam.

We passed a lock with the lockmaster’s house still standing next to it. The house is brick painted black, leans a little to one side, and appropriately enough, houses a bar. So we went there after the boat ride. Larry knew right were to find it. I’m not sure that I could even now.

So there I was at a table on the waterside, drinking a nice crisp lager, the tour boats floating by, the graceful skyline of Amsterdam all around me, the space cake really taking over. I could get used to this.

From there we wound up on Kloveniersburgwal, which is another of the many street-and-canal combinations. Larry had to go back to the apartment to get his nighttime glasses. I didn’t feel like trekking all the way back to the suburbs, and besides, I remembered that Goa was only a couple of blocks away at number 42. I told Larry I’d be outside Goa in half an hour. 

By this time my space cake could use a small bump to keep it going, but first a beer. I passed Goa and went to the end of the street where it becomes NieuwMarkt. The Lokaal ‘t Loosje had a tap labeled “Proef de Legende.” I have no idea what that really means; I’m just reporting here. It is a dubbel black beer. It was very malty, like all black brews, and managed to be sweet and salty at the same time.

Goa’s space cakes are a little lighter weight than Paradox’s. I tried to order coffee and was told that it wasn’t enough. You had to buy something to smoke too in order to hang around. So I told the guy behind the counter that I want a coffee and a muffin. The muffins there run 0.4 gram of cannabis. It may be hashish at Goa. No telling exactly, though, because the baked stuff commonly uses the collected leftovers after the measuring and packaging of the smoking products are done.

Think of the old Treasure Island ice cream, the mix of the ends of vats. It was great because you didn’t have to make up your mind about which flavor you wanted. You got them all.

About a half hour after that, things become a little sketchy.

At some point, we went to Bush Docter. It looks out onto a square called Thorbeckeplein, which kind of grows out of the side of Rembrandtplein. We were under the umbrella there when the thunderstorm hit. We waited it out. Then Larry notices the color of the sky. I tried to photograph it, but couldn't catch it, so you’re out of luck there.

Larry made some photos of me on the bridge. Here is one as far out of focus as I was.

Then we rode off for dinner. Into or out of the sunset, I do not recall.

At least, I think that was the sequence of events.

I remember eating spare ribs at a bar. I think Larry had a bowl of steamed mussels. 

Then we went to the Arendsnest, the bar that specializes in Dutch beers. I had a glass of what may be the only Dutch Trappist ale. The rest of the abbey brews are from Belgium. 

I asked the bartender for a suggestion: What is the most unusual, Dutch craft brew here? He said there were several candidates, so I ordered a flight of three.

I had the presence of mind to make notes. One was a SNAB smoked porter. The malt is toasted over an open fire. And it is smoky. Emelisse double I.P.A. was very full of fruit and hop flavors. Very interesting. Breugems Bonnetje, at 10 percent, was by far the strongest of the three. I could taste the alcohol along with the hops.

From there we biked to the Hemp. The bartender this night was apparently a songwriter, who had just got back from Berlin, where she had played electric violin for some people. She was playing Bruce Springsteen, the Doors, and lots of other old history. Then one came on that sounded positively ancient--I mean like folk era, before Bob Dylan plugged in. 

I didn’t recognize it, so I asked: When was that recorded? Last year. As my daughter-in-law remarked of me once, I’m a little sheltered.

Cappy Jack came in with a twisted casting of copper that he called an exotic antenna. Sir Michael came in and took Larry’s seat next to the only girl at the bar. Barry showed up too. The place was pretty full by the time I left shortly after midnight.

I crossed the school yard to Sarphatistraat and followed that to the gas station, turned right past the Brouwerij, left under the trestle and right onto Celebestraat to Eerste Atjehstraat. Didn’t fall off even once. Maybe I can get the hang of this.

Be well, all.

 A pissoir on the canal.