Back on Two Wheels

April 27

I am back on two wheels, tentatively sailing through the city of Amsterdam. Now I can threaten to run down people on the street.

I took Joanna to Schiphol yesterday. We got to the airport early for her 2:55 flight so we explored the terminal. We went to the upper restaurant level and found an airplane on the roof.

It is the body of a Fokker 100 with a mockup of a cockpit. Inside the cabin above the portholes are photos recording key events in flight history, including the roots of the Fokker company and of KLM.

We stopped for a snack at a restaurant called Dakota’s. We shared an apple tart, which I took with a thimbleful of espresso and a Palm ale. I mention this because of the relative novelty. I have been off coffee for almost two weeks, since the morning after two cups my stomach started to go bad. I was off my feed for days.

Since then, I have been taking my necessary daily fix of caffeine by drinking tea. It’s enough to keep the withdrawal symptoms at bay, but hardly what I am used to.

But sitting there to taste the coffee, along with the sweet and tart apple cake and sips of Belgian ale, I remembered the meaning of “comfort food.” 

Besides the airplane, someone left a giant six-pack of Heineken on the roof. Joanna tried to hide there, but the immigration authorities found her and deported her anyway.

Joanna went to the gate around 1:30, about an hour before it was due to close, and I took a train back to Amsterdam Central.

The bike rental shop, Star Bikes, is on a street called Piet Heinkade. You walk out of the station on the city side, go to the east end of the building and turn left. One block through, you’re at the Ij. That’s the big harbor of Amsterdam and is pronounced like “I.”  Or maybe like “eye.” Turn right to find the shop.

I picked up a sharp bicycle not too different from my own commuter bike for 50 euros. The hotel let me park it in an enclosed courtyard in the back for security. At least, they let me do that last night.

I was due to meet Larry at the Arendsnest, a bar on the Herengracht that specializes in Dutch beers. I was more than an hour early, so he wasn’t there yet. I had an unfiltered blonde ale. This I found later was a recipe based on an old compromise. Brewers who couldn’t afford to put in cooling equipment to produce Pilsners devised an old-fashioned top-fermented blonde brew to compete with the newer beers. 

It is yellow, sharp, hoppy, and cloudy. As the sign said in Seattle: “If God had wanted us to filter our beer, he wouldn’t have given us a liver.”

The Eagle’s Nest is near the northwestern extremity of the Herengracht, so I decided that there was no way I could sit for an hour and a half among all those taps and not get loaded. So rather than wait for Larry in front of all that temptation, I decided to tour the Herengracht.

It is one of three canals (the other two being the Keizersgracht and Prinsengracht) that form loops around the old city. They were built during the city’s Golden Age.

The Herengracht, like most Amsterdam canals, is lined with old burgers’ home from the 17th and 18th centuries. Churches and public buildings are tucked in along the way. It ends at the Amstel, across from the Hermitage, where Joanna and I saw the temporary Van Gogh exhibition.

I went one canal over and followed the Keizersgracht back toward the Arendsnest.

Larry got there around 5 or so. We had a couple of beers, including one dedicated to the incoming king. It is called Ale X Anders. And it is hard to believe, but something that gimmicky was actually good. It was bitter, rather than sweet, and hearty.

From the Nest we biked to Kloveniersburgwal, which has a couple of interesting coffee shops. We went to a place called Basjoe, new to me. We had espresso (more comfort food) and I ate a space cake while Larry rolled a joint.

We walked to a brewery and cafe called De Bekeerde Suster. “Bekeerde” means something like “converted” or maybe “repentant.”

From what I could make out from the bar’s website, it is named after an order formed in 1450 to take in repentant prostitutes. It is associated with Mary of Bethany, who in this tradition is identified with Mary Magdalene.

Larry had a wheat beer called White Antonia. According to the Suster’s website, “Een bekende inwoonster van het klooster was Witte Antonia.” I have no idea what that means. Is there anyone who can give me a translation?

I had a fantastic hamburger with a fantastic ale called De Blonde Barbier. I was getting into prime time from the space cake, my first since last August.

We strolled over to another coffee shop somewhere, but that was packed so we went to another, which Larry said was one of the first. I was sailing so I had only an espresso. I was caked high enough.

Then it was time to cross town and go to the Hemp. Larry said to me, “Do you think you can navigate the way?” He was talking about my leading him back to the bikes.

Probably not. “Sure.”

I had missed one turn in our wanderings. We were back at Kloveniersburgwal by Basjoe sooner than I expected, but I did remember which way to turn to go to the bikes.

My route to the Hemp was to go south to Herengracht, follow that to Utrechtsestraat and then turn right toward Frederiksplein, where the Hemp is.

I was doing all right until Larry told me to turn left where I hadn’t expected it. We followed the Amstel, which took us to the far end of the Herengracht. and had to turn left at Utrechtsestraat.  I almost missed Utrechtsestraat, because I had mistakenly expected to encounter a traffic light at the corner.

Not too bad, though, for a plastered foreigner.

We stopped at the Grolsch Cafe where we had Pilsner Urquell, which is hard to find on tap, at least outside Prague.

I don’t know when we got to the Hemp, maybe 9:30 or 10. Merle was tending bar. Sir Michael came in shortly after we got there. I remember we had a chat about the nickname “Jack,” which the Dutch speakers had a hard time seeing derived from “John,” and also about the use of the word as a generic meaning “boy” or “man.” Very interesting, because it’s one of my favorite subjects.

I was drinking Brand UP, a strong pilsner but on the light side for me, and actually sobered up while I was at the bar. I left around two. Larry and Sir Michael were still going strong. I had sobered up a little, but apparently not enough. I have to go back tonight because I forgot to pay my tab. Can’t disappoint these folks. They know me there.

Friends, this is exciting. I feel like bona fide Euro trash. People know me at a bar in Amsterdam. 

Be well all, and to all a good night.