Flights of Eagles

June 16-17

Sunday we had arranged to meet at the Arends Nest, a popular spot on the northwestern end of the Herengracht.

Amsterdam Centrum, the old city, is largely defined by several concentric canals, sort of like those concentric ridges in the earth works at Poverty Point. Maybe the Dutch of the Golden Age were descended from the mound builders.

These concentric canals are crossed by several others, so the old city is a warren of canals, alleys, narrow streets, drugs, sex, beer, museums, and cheap souvenirs. In other words, it’s the kind of place that everybody wants to visit.

My hotel is on one of the canals, the Prinsengracht, but some distance away from the Dam and the wilder part of the old town. I’m near the eastern end of the canal, but it’s a short walk to the Prinsengracht station for the No. 12 tram. I took that five stops to Nieuwezijds Kolk. 

I looked that up. It means something like “New Side’s Eddy” or maybe “Pond.”

The street it’s on is Nieuwezijds Voorburgwaal, which Wikipedia translates as “New Side Front Bastion Wall.” It’s the site of an old defensive wall of the city. 

The street is home to the royal palace and the New Church. My last time in Amsterdam, there was a coronation in those buildings. 

Old Sides is the east side of old town. There’s an Oudezijdz Voorburgwaal, which runs through the Red Light District.

I had been to the bar, Arends Nest, before, but long enough ago that I have forgotten how to get there. I had copied Google instructions into my notebook and was able to follow them right to the place.

I came early to give me time to stroll around the neighborhood. 

Amsterdam is one of the most photogenic cities in the world. Riding a bike or walking, you look in any direction and see graceful proportions. The buildings, some of them 400 or 500 years old, are all made to complement each other.

Arends (or in English, Eagle’s) Nest is a bar specializing in Dutch craft beer. It has 52 on tap.

I couldn’t get through all 52, but did try a few. 

The bartender said one of the selections was a red IPA called If Glitter Was a Hop, brewed by Dutch Bargain in Groede. Red IPA? Say no more.

Stupid name, though.

It was a competent red IPA, which is to say it was very good. It had plenty of strong malt flavor, which is a result of the red part of the mix, and lots of hops, which is the IPA part.

It ran around 8 percent ABV. It not only had a stupid name, but also a stupid feature that I was lucky enough to avoid.

The brewer puts actual glitter into the beer. The bartender says it settles out, but when they put in a new keg, they turn it upside down and get cascades of glitter with the first pulls. 

The keg had been sitting for enough time to let the particles settle. I couldn’t see any junk in my drink.

I can’t imagine anything I want to do less than drink clutter in my beer. Natural sediment in unfiltered ale is fine. But please don’t feed me Mylar.

Another interesting take was a black IPA called Hedgehogs on the Horizon, from a brewery called Het Uiltje in Haarlem.

It was stout hopped like an IPA. Not unlike Guinness, there was a hint of unsweetened chocolate in the malt. The flavor was definitely dry, like Guinness. But not like Guinness it was fragrant and sharp from lots of bitter flowers.

It had an alcohol content of 5.5 percent and wasn’t a bad drink at all. The flavor is very distinct, though. I might try it again, but one in an evening’s enough.

We tried a couple of promising places for food, but the wait was an hour at one spot and unknown at the other, which was essentially a takeout place with a few seats. There was no waiting list. You had to compete for a seat.

We wound up at an undistinguished bar, where we had some nachos. That stood in as dinner for me.

Later, after strolling the Red Light District and the Dam, I made my way home on the No. 4 tram.

I stopped for a beer at Bouwman, on my corner. I saw someone who looked familiar and began to compliment her on her work ethic. 

Oops. This isn’t the lady who quite literally ran the whole operation Saturday night.

No, Harry. You were trying to be gracious. You weren’t really sure, were you? Why didn’t you ask?  You fuck-up. 

Lucky for me, it wasn’t too bad, after all. She said she was the lady’s sister and that people mistake them all the time. True? Fuck do I know, but I’ll accept it this time.

Monday I had no place special to go, so I took a tram ride, the No. 4 from Utrechtsestraat to the end of the line at AmstelStation. There’s not much out there, but that’s all right. 

I waited till the trolley started back the other way.

This is a great ride. It passes the Cuyp Market, Utrechsestraat, Rembrandtplein, the Flower Market.

There was nothing to interest me in the Central Station, so I got off before the end of the line, at the Rokin stop, not far from Dam Square

I walked through more of these beautiful streets and alleys before I took the tram back to Utrechtsestraat. 

I met Larry at Ooievaar around 5. We had a quick beer and then went to Cuyp Market.

We stopped at the coffeeshop, Katsu, in the market area, where I had a little cake and coffee. 

We reached De Pizzabakkers at a good time. It was fairly empty. This is the place we tried on Sunday. What a difference a day makes.

I opted for a pizza they call Da Noi. It’s a cheesy Margherita with sausage. Fantastic.

Pizzabakers even had Montepulciano d’Abruzzo on the menu. Of all the different types of wine, that may be my favorite variety in all the world. Power of suggestion or not—I don’t care—but this was up there with the best Abruzzos I’ve had.

When we walked back through Cuyp Market Street the stalls were closed, and loose trash covered the street waiting for cleanup.

Some of the birds had already volunteered to help.

We also stopped at some point during our wandering in an upscale coffee shop on Utrechtsestraat. This is the boutique street, remember, so with this kind of business you want to prove that you can be a good neighbor.

No loud music here. The men at the counter wear bowties. The store keeps a man outside who dresses like a butler. He chats with people and keeps the sidewalk clean.

I bought a boxed spacecake, which came in a nifty little shopping bag that read “Happiness From Amsterdam.”

After a few beers more and that spacecake, I slept the sleep of the lost.

We had planned to take the train to Haarlem the next morning, but when I woke up around 7 on Tuesday, I knew I wasn’t going anywhere. Except back to bed.

It took a while, but I managed to get an e-mail off to Larry. I didn’t want him to get onto the 11 o’clock train thinking I was there too.

I stayed in bed till 11, then went up the street for some eggs and toast, and most important, coffee.

I stayed in till five or so and then walked carefully down to the Cuyp Market to meet Larry for dinner. He had recommended Bazar, a Turkish restaurant in a former synagogue on the Cuyp Market Street.

The menu is long and varied. Larry pointed out the veal spare-ribs, so—knowing that you follow Larry to a restaurant anywhere—I chose to have that.

They were reasonably meaty, and came with pickled vegetable salad, which was marginal, and some fries, which were OK.

The meat, though, was superb—tender and moist, savory and rich. I had a couple of glasses of a pretty good sauvignon blanc. I tried a merlot too but that was disappointing.

We went around the corner to Katsu for dessert, a little cake and espresso.

I capped that with a couple of beers at Ooievaar and Bouwman before I came back to call it a night.

I’m having another great time, gang.

Here’s to great times, and good dreams.

Harry