Day 39: Amsterdam

Saturday, September 21

As excited as i was about being in Amsterdam, it was yet another slow start this morning. I heard the woman on the bunk below me get up, do her morning things, and leave, and then waited as the couple on the other two bunks got up, did their things and went, so i could have the room to myself while i did my own morning things. Like sitting on the toilet for a long time, too overcome with emotion to move. I took this trip partially to help process a bunch of trauma, and then i keep acting surprised when i spend an hour crying in the bathroom in the morning. Shocked Pikachu face dot jpg.
    I did the toilet paper trick to get my electrolyte powder downstairs again, which worked mostly fine, although i made a bit of a mess pouring it into the cup this time. And once again, i had to go back up to the room anyway, because i forgot my entire main camera.
    I do feel a little bad about complaining about my roommates at the end of the last entry. They didn't do anything intentionally shitty, it's just the way things are when you check into a hostel late. People have complained about me for doing these same things and i've tried to rationalize myself. It just sucks when you're the one trying to sleep. I probably didn't need to document it. Going forward, i'll try to reserve that type of venting for people who are actively breaking the hostel code, not just the unspoken bits, but the parts that are written down in the booking agreement and on posted signs.
    First, i need food. Liz had emphatically implored me to eat poffertjes, a plate full of tiny, puffy pancake medallions. "Spherical, almost, kinda spaceship shaped," she had described them. The traditional Dutch serving is with butter and powdered sugar. She said her favorite place to eat them is called Pancake Club, which has a nice outdoor seating area that faces the canal.
    Pancake Club was 3.4 kilometers away, a nice 45 minute walk through this beautiful city, along its legendary canals, on a perfect sunny day. Not too hot, not too cold, literally just right. Could not ask for more.
    I took the ferry across the canal, once again jumping aboard just before it set sail. I passed through a tunnel through one side of the train station, taking note of the beautiful ceramic tiles along the wall on the pedestrian side, painted with imagery of ships traversing choppy waters in the traditional blue-and-white Delftware style. I didn't realize at the time that this was an Atlas Obscura location, called Cuyperspassage. According to the article, the passage contains about 80,000 tiles, and is an homage to Dutch tile painter Cornelis Boumeester.
    I passed by the National Monument to those killed in World War II, which appears to just be called "National Monument." It's a tall column whose width tapers as it rises, and comes to a rounded tip. Several sculptures of people stand among its base, with one more about ten feet up the tower. Birds have claimed the monument, though; dozens of them perched across the statues and any other surface that could support a claw-hold.
    There was another statue of two human busts, back to back, carved from a giant boulder, their heads above the eyes seeming to have melted off. It's called "Two Immovable Heads," also known as the "Manders Rokin Fountain Sarah statue" according to Maps. Sculpted by Mark Manders and unveiled in 2017, it's part of Amsterdam's "Red Carpet" project. I have to stop going down rabbit holes somewhere, though.
    I came to a sculpture of two human hands with forearms, slightly taller than i am. Text encircled them, a phrase in multiple languages. The English read, "Stay true to yourself...Stand tall when needed...Stand up for the weak and minorities, speak your mind honestly, and listen to your sense of justice. And pass that on to your children. Then all will be well."
    I scanned the QR code at the base, but many elements of the web site wouldn't load. Maps says this is "Herinneringsmonument Tegen alle stromen in," and is a memorial to Peter R. de Vries, who was assassinated near this spot in July 2021.
    I'd been walking in a straight line for so long that when i reached the Pancake Club, which is a small, round, glass building by the canal in a park, that i didn't recognize it as my destination and kept walking for another half a block before realizing my directions had stopped. This included crossing a busy street, where cars were doing some really dumb stuff in the intersection, and then crossing back.
    I've been in Europe for over a month and i'm still not used to the way that cars will stop for pedestrians, whether we're indicating we'd like to cross or not. Just parts like the Red Sea. Please come into the road, dear pedestrian. It's like magic.
    I'm definitely gonna get run over as soon as i'm back in Madison.
    I saw a meme like a week ago, something about how "European pedestrians have no respect for cars," which i thought was immensely funny. I'm definitely looking at it as the reverse; American motorists have no respect for pedestrians.
    We could all be better about looking out for each other.
    The outdoor seating area at Pancake Club was not open. The fences were up, denoting where that seating area should be, but there were no tables or chairs to be seen. The menu was posted outside the gate, close to the building, along with a sign that said they were full, please wait here for the next available table, usually 15 minutes.
    A group of four was standing at the gate when i arrived. They were arguing about something. After a minute, the three women went inside the building, and the man walked away on his own.
    I just waited. From where i was standing, i could see several booths, all full.
    A hostess approached. "One?" she asked.
    "One, yes."
    "Okay, let me check quick." She went back into the round building, walked just past the curve of the booths, and came back. "Yes, please go sit at the last table this way."
    I passed between the booths occupying the outer rim of the circle to my right, and the bar to my left, ringing the kitchen in the center. I came to that last booth and sat down, as instructed, but noted that the last four or five seats at the bar were also empty. Surprised she didn't put me there.
    I ordered the "large portion" of the titular "Pancake Club" poffertjes: twenty little bite-sized pancake spaceships with ice cream, strawberries, and whipped cream.

    Delectable. Delectable, delectable, delectable!! I need more words to describe food, dammit! It was everything i hoped it would be and more.
    I worked my way through the meal by taking different combinations of the items onto my fork at the same time and savoring the flavors together. A little ice cream, a strawberry, and a pancake. A scoop of whipped cream, a poffertje, and a strawberry. Ice cream and spaceship. I was about halfway through the platter when i noted that the one in the middle looked like it was maybe not fully cooked; a little doughy. I scooped a little ice cream, grabbed that center bit, dipped it through the whipped cream, and put it in my mouth.
    Butter. That was a pat of butter.
    Dairy explosion in my mouth.
    It was only about half of the butter, fortunately, so at least now i knew i had butter, and i could add that to the combinations.
    Liz had also mentioned that there were some "intriguing little lizard statues" near the Pancake Club, but, like the outdoor seating, i was not able to locate them.
    Several Atlas Obscura locations are in the neighborhoods near here, continuing my outward trajectory. I crossed that busy street a third time, and proceeded to the furthest-out destination on my list: Lab 111 and the Strangelove Bar. This century-old building was originally part of a vast hospital complex, serving as its pathological anatomy laboratory, a space for conducting autopsies and tissue sample research. It was decommissioned in 1983, became a cultural center for a while, and is now an independent cinema with a wide variety of offerings.
    I guess my plan was just to see the outside of the building and go, but once i was there, i couldn't resist the siren's call. I had to see the inside. I probably could have done that without loitering by simply ordering a drink at the Strangelove Bar inside, which would have been cool in itself, but i'd already been on the web site and looked at the upcoming screenings.
    Such a diverse lineup. Current films, like Blink Twice and Beetlejuice Beetlejuice. Classic films like Lost Highway and F for Fake. Popular favorites of my generation like Mean Girls and Corpse Bride. Grindhouse fare, something called Straight To Video Presents Ticks (1993)! Howl's Moving Castle! Most surprisingly, The Substance, a movie which is still on its film festival run. I'd overheard a lot of people speaking very positively about it at the Berlin Fantasy Filmfest, but i'd missed that screening because i was still in Warsaw; i missed the Paris L'Étranger screening because i was still in Berlin. I'm expecting to see it at Sitges. It's just odd, because usually film festivals have strict requirements on where and when a film has screened beforehand in order to be accepted. I wouldn't have thought non-festival screenings of this movie would be possible yet.
    So anyway i had to see a movie here. There was a special screening of the 75th anniversary restoration of The Third Man starting in twenty minutes. That gave me enough time to explore the building, and see all of their cool displays of historical film memorabilia and tribute art beforehand.
    The movie was great, of course; i don't feel the need to write a review. The British Film Institute has often voted it as the Best British Film of All Time. Although, recently i've watched several of Orson Welles's later-period works; i've fallen asleep trying to get through The Other Side of the Wind three times now. So it's a bit jarring to go back and see him as a spry youth.

    From the theater, i made my way to a neighborhood with seven townhouses built to each represent the architectural style of another country. It's called Zevenlandenhuizen, literally "Seven Country Houses." Though these are now considered a national monument, they are still residential buildings with people actually living in them, so tourists are advised to try not to disturb the locals. Also, they might have been built as part of a tax evasion scheme?? Atlas Obscura drops that bit of text and then just dodges it for the rest of the article without explaining.
    Countries represented are, from left to right, England, Netherlands, Russia, Italy, Spain, France, and Germany.
    At the end of that street is a plaque dedicated to Aletta Henrïette Jacobs, affixed to the side of her former home. Jacobs is a feminist icon, the first woman to graduate from university in the Netherlands and the first to become a doctor. She started the world's first birth control clinic, and was a prolific activist for women's rights in the early 20th century. The plaque was installed in 1923. Jacobs died in 1929.
    This house, too, is still an occupied private residence.
    Still working my way back in the general direction of the hostel, my next objective was The Little Woodcutter. Coming to the park where he resides, i noted that i was crossing that busy street again, this time on the other side of the intersection. Pancake Club was visible off to my right.
    The Little Woodcutter is a 50 centimeter tall statue of, well, a woodcutter. He's bent over a saw, depicted as cutting into the branch of the large tree that he resides in.
    No one knows the origin of this statue. It appeared in the park on January 30th, 1989, the day before Queen Beatrix's birthday, and no artist has ever claimed credit. Many have suspected, due to the timing, that Beatrix herself commissioned the piece, as she was "a known lover of the arts," but it's never been proven. The same artist has left other tiny statues around the city, but this is the most sought-after and easiest to miss.
    In 2019, despite thirty years of tree growth having enveloped his shoes and part of his saw, a strong wind blasted the guy right out of the tree. By 2022, he had been relocated to a different tree, where i found him.
    I wonder if i'll find any of his compatriots. I don't have a list, but i'll keep an eye out.
    Just down the street from here, i came to Paradiso. This 19th century church was built for an organization called "The Free Congregation," but it was abandoned by the 1960s and became a squat for hippies. Soon, it was converted into a cultural center, but in 1968, it was transformed into a music venue, with a stage where the pulpit once stood. It still retains the stained-glass windows, distinctive gothic balconies, and overall church-like atmosphere. It has thrived as a concert hall, hosting artists ranging from Pink Floyd to Lana Del Rey.
    There was a tour bus parked next to it. I saw stagehands loading equipment in through the side door. A handful of teenagers were seated on the stairs by the door.
    I wonder who's playing tonight. Should i. Should i go see a show? At the Paradiso?
    I checked the web site. Someone named ADMT. Never heard of him. Paradiso's own web site says he's best known for a 50 Cent cover. I Googled him, and the first thing that came up was a YouTube link to a Whitney Houston cover. Skinny white boy covering 50 Cent and Whitney Houston? Maybe i'll skip this one.
    Who's playing tomorrow?
    THE THE???? HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT.
    IT'S SOLD OUT???
    FUUUUUUUUUUU
    ...
    I moved on to Nieuwe Spiegelstraat, a strange little shopping district filled with antique shops dedicated to extremely specific niches, each essentially of qualifying as a museum in its own right. I found that there were also several art galleries. I didn't go into any of them, but i peered through the windows, seeing many bits of old jewelry, kitsch, and kitchenwares. There were also several antique clock shops, each with its own distinct flavor.
    I came to an intersection, where a cardboard cutout of Ed Sheeran was propped up in a window, surveying his territory, overlooking the busy streets as shoppers flitted to and fro.
    Just off a side street from Nieuwe Spiegelstraat is the Hans Brinker Budget Hotel, known as "The Worst Hotel in the World." It advertises itself as such. From Atlas Obscura, "The Hans Brinker Hotel makes an effort to create the most uncomfortable hotel experience possible. Dirty sheets (guaranteed to improve your immune system), crappy lockers, flooded bathrooms, and the unavoidable wafts of marijuana smoke around the place is enough to drive anyone away – on the other hand, you do get what you pay for." The pictures show rows of unmade beds, unkempt floors, and overflowing trash cans.
    I did not go inside. Part of me wanted to book a night there, after i leave ClinkNoord, just to see what the experience is like. But the better part of me does not want tetanus. I survived a hotel very much like this in Hartford, Connecticut in 2011. I'm probably good.
    Exiting the shopping district, i saw a large crocheted lobster hanging from the wall of a boutique.
    Where am i going from here?
    I looked through the map. KattenKabinet isn't far from here. It started as a shrine to the owner's dead cat, and then became much more, as tributes, art, and other cat memorabilia were donated by the founder's friends, and eventually more and more people as it became well known. It got to the point where KattenKabinet has partnered with the Museum Van Gogh on displays "of artistic and feline importance." I guess i had read the article as more of a cat mausoleum, i thought other people were interring their own dead cats in this guy's house, and i didn't think that would be good for my mental health in that moment. Rereading it now i think it's just the one dead cat.
    Also the Torture Museum is nearby. Uhhh. Maybe not on that one right now, either.
    Eh. There's a replica of a Volkswagen Beetle that's been rolled into a ball between here and the hostel. Maybe that's worth a look.
    I came to the Amsterdam Cheese Company. I'd passed two of these on my way out, probably this location was one of them, and i'd left myself a mental note to investigate later. Well. It's later. How about i investigate.
    So many fancy cheeses, vacuum-packed and "ready to fly," as a sign read. I just walked around and looked at cheese for a moment, thinking that was all i was going to do here, but near the counter, i found trays of samples set out. I had to try them.
    Good god. Can i get away with dropping the D-word again? Delectable.
    I was quite taken with all of the cheeses i sampled here. As i moved about the store, i found more little bowls of samples, shelved next to small wheels of cheese.
    In the corner, i found a small cooler with containers of pre-cubed cheeses. It was a sampler of three of their popular cheeses; i recognized them all. They were some of the ones on the counter. The package was 170 grams, and cost €10. Seemed expensive.
    But i wanted it.
    I checked out, and was given two small wooden "forks" to eat my cheese with. They're like three inches long, flat, sort of rounded, and the end has a triangle cut out of it to make two points, for stabbing.
    I crossed the street and found a tree planted in the cobblestone sidewalk, with a bit of a curb around it. I sat down, facing the canal, and enjoyed my cheese.

    I ate the whole container. I have no regrets. This was, without a doubt, the finest, most delicious cheese i have ever eaten in my life...outside of New Zealand. Possibly better than the New Zealand cheese! It's been 16 years, i can't remember it all that clearly!
    If i were flying straight home from here, i probably would grab some of those vacuum-sealed wheels. But i have no way of transporting it for any length of time.
    I sat there for 40 minutes, slowly, slowly, savoring that cheese, watching the tour boats float by on the canal.
    A large pickup truck passed behind me, waiting patiently for a line of cars at the intersection ahead, blasting Michael Jackson's Beat It loud enough that i'd heard it coming a full minute before it arrived. It moved through the intersection, and was gone, leaving a trail of fading music in its wake.
    Several minutes later, i heard Beat It approaching again, and saw the truck driving the opposite direction on the road across the canal from me. Beat It isn't that long of a song, is it? There's no way that Beat It is still playing.
    A few minutes after that, i heard Beat It once again, off in the distance, possibly one or two streets over.
    Is this person just driving around the neighborhood, playing Beat It on repeat?
    Is there some meaning to this? The truck is flat black, i didn't see any stickers or banners or flags waving off of it. If they're trying to get someone to leave, then who? Just...everyone? Is this a political statement of some kind?
    Or maybe they just really like Eddie Van Halen's sick guitar solo and want to share.
    Who knows.
    Alright. About that Volkswagen, eh?
    Google Maps tried to run me through a narrow alley, so squished between the buildings that i didn't even see it at first, but there was a locked gate across it. Can't go that way, Maps. Try again.
    I kept walking down that street, but Maps wouldn't recalculate, it kept sending me back toward that locked gate. It was a long way before i had another opportunity to make a right turn, and when i did Maps finally found me another way. It would be a long way back, though.
    Maps led me to another locked gate, this one large, across the wide-open maw of a shopping mall.
    Oh. The Volkswagen is inside that mall, which closed while i was sitting there, eating my cheese.
    The article says that it's visible through the windows even when the mall is closed, but certainly not the windows i was near. Guess i'm missing this one. I'm not super broken up about it.
    It was 7:30, there was probably still plenty of time for more adventures, but i was kind of feeling done. With the movie in the middle of the day there, and with all of my destinations pretty low-key, artsy stuff to just look at and move on, it had ended up being more of a relaxation day than an adventure day. I mean, in the end, i still walked 18,000 steps, roughly nine miles, but it was pretty relaxed.
    I decided to just make for the hostel. I was a little hungry, but i was full of cheese, so i just wanted something small that might include a bit of nutrition. Liz had mentioned a couple other common Dutch foods to try, which should be available from stands along the streets. Bitterballen, which she described as "a deep-fried meat goo situation" that she personally dislikes even the vegetarian version of, but i thought i might give it a try anyway, just to see, and pickled herring, which i've already enjoyed in Denmark and Norway. Lotta commas in that sentence.
    The idea to check out that rooftop that i thought was a huge party last night, the A'DAM lookout, and maybe try the swing, had also occurred to me. It's right by the hostel, that might still be feasible tonight.
    I didn't find any street stands selling either of those things, but i did come across the starting line for a race. Dam to Dam is apparently the largest annual series of athletic events in Amsterdam, and it's happening this weekend. The stands were largely empty by the time i rolled up to this fair, and a barricade was across the entrance. I scanned the QR code, but the web site would only display in Dutch; i decided to check it out from the laptop when i got back, because at least that version of Firefox will translate for me. I don't know why it doesn't do it on mobile.
    I would go on to forget to do this until morning, much to my chagrin.
    Outside the train station, there was a pro-Palestine demonstration going on. A huge Palestinian flag, measuring, i don't know, fifty feet long-ish, had been rolled out on the ground like a carpet, and Palestinians were standing along it, waving regular-sized flags. Two people were drumming, and a microphone was being passed around between three people, leading group chants in support of Palestine.
    I stood there for ten minutes or so, watching. I saw a fistfight break out, which the leaders on the microphone were quick to denounce and try to diffuse. "Do not engage! That's what they want!" they were calling desperately. A single security guard in a yellow vest tried to break it up, but had a lot of difficulty. There were no other guards present. He looked exhausted.
    After a second fistfight started, i decided to leave.
    There's another Atlas Obscura location inside the train station, Koninklijke Wachtkamer, the Royal Waiting Room. Because royals can't bend everything to their will, they need to wait for trains like the rest of us, but they may as well have their own dedicated, luxurious room to do it in. This room was completely private until 2018, when some windows were installed to allow the plebs outside to have a look at what they're missing out on.
    I couldn't find it.
    I got lost in the train station for a bit, but eventually found my way out. This time, i didn't need to scan anything, the passage was just open.
    Got to the ferry once again just before it closed up and left. Three for three on that now.
    I still hadn't found anything to eat, so once on the other bank, instead of turning toward the hostel, i kept walking down the street. It made sense to me that they would open food stands near the ferry, for hungry people who had just gotten off the train and not stopped at a place inside the station.
    And sure enough, i did find a food stand within a block.
    It wasn't bitterballen or herring. The main course seemed to be French fries, actually. But they did also have something called frikandel, which Google tells me is a kind of Dutch minced meat sausage. I got the Frikandel Special, which is the sausage with curry, ketchup, and diced onion. Not too unlike Germany's currywurst, now that i'm thinking about it.
    It was alright. It was super cheap, so i'm not gonna complain about it. Good value for what it cost.
    The sun was long down, and i was ready to be done.
    Back at the hostel, i grabbed my laptop, and went down to the bar to have a drink and write up yesterday's log. Still a day behind. It was only 8:30, so i hoped that i'd be able to catch up and write two days' worth, but it was not to be. I finished one, it was nearly 1am, and i called it a night.
    Before i started writing, i had tried to do some laundry, wanting to take advantage of available facilities so i could do everything at once and get those hard-to-Scrubba items like my cargo shorts, but every machine was full. Maybe if i get up earlier in the morning, i can slip in there while other people are out adventuring.
    One person was sleeping in the room when i returned. As quietly as i could, using only the screen of my phone for light, i put my things away, climbed into bed, and laid down.
    Minutes later, the woman on the bunk below me loudly barged into the room, turned on the overhead light, and with no regard to anyone else, carelessly started flinging her shit around and making a huge ruckus. She made a phone call.
    I didn't want to deal with it. I just pulled the blanket over my head and waited. It only took 10 minutes or so for her to turn the light off and go to sleep. But really. What the fuck, bro? This is a hostel and putting up with other people's noises is a thing we need to deal with. But it is 1:30 in the morning. How the fuck are you this rude?