Holland Days 2

Vincent, Rembrandt, and Banta

April 20

One of the things Joanna said she wanted to see in Amsterdam is the Van Gogh Museum. I had never been there, either. We almost missed it.

The Van Gogh Museum near the Museumplein has been closed for several weeks or months for a renovation of the entrance. A large exhibition was moved to the Hermitage for the duration. That closes on Thursday for a week for the move back to the old digs, which are going to reopen somewhere around the time I leave town.

Needless to say we had to make the Hermitage our first stop. It’s amazing to see these things close up. You actively have to resist touching them. The thick paints are that tactilely inviting. But everybody seemed to be behaving, except for a furtive photograph now and then. Snapshots are forbidden.

About half way through there is a resting place with a table covered with books about the exhibit. Available, of course, in the museum store. I was skimming through the reproductions. It is clear that Van Gogh is strictly a live performance. The photos in the art books bore no resemblance to what we had just seen. 

I’m getting ahead of myself, as usual. We took the tram down to Muntplein to get to the Hermitage. Muntplein is where the Floating Flower Market is. It doesn’t really float, although it may once have done. The shops, selling potted plants, dried flowers, bulbs, and seeds of various species, including cannabis, are on piers that reach into Singel, one of the principal canals.

I made a video of the flower market in December 2010, the first time I was here. I’ll post that on the blog when I can find it.

Another top spot in Amsterdam for people watching is Rembrandtplein. It is a square with a statue of Rembrandt in the center. At his feet are bronzes based on figures from his great painting, The Night Watch. Indeed, the bar on the corner, where I had a La Chouffe on the way back from the Hermitage is called De Nacht Wacht.

The photo of the day is “Joanna Joins the Night Watch.” I wish I could brag that the little girl petting the bronze dog was artistry and not dumb luck.

From Rembrandtplein we strolled down Utrechtsestraat, past the Kiesersgracht, where I showed Joanna the steps Larry had to drag me up the first night I was in town because I was too loaded to walk on my own. 

I vaguely remember a group of eager young men offering to assist us and Larry telling them to keep away from us. That was more than two years ago, and I’ve learned plenty since then. Don’t always practice it, but I’ve learned it.

I took Joanna to the bar at the Hemp Hotel on Frederiksplein, so I could show her the chair where I passed out last summer. I had told her that once in a while I met people at the Hemp who recognized me. They don’t remember my name, but know I am familiar.

Banta was behind the bar. He has an African or island accent of some kind, but hails from Germany, if I recall right. He prefers life in Amsterdam. 

He remembered me, all right. I felt so worldly. Joanna snapped a shot of the two of us.

Somewhere along the way we passed a fence with a formal garden behind it. The building may have been a tony residence or even tonier business address. I don’t know.

We had paella and tapas at a Spanish restaurant near the hotel, and then wandered some side streets for an hour. We passed a condom shop, a few casinos, lots of head shops. A group of kids on the street were asking other kids on the street how to get to Barney’s. 

I was able to tell them: Walk north to Haarlemmerstraat and turn left. At least I think that was left and not right. Even if I was wrong about the turn, it’ll get them close.

So the old dude knew the way. Or approximately so. Hot damn, kids, don’t judge a beard by its color.