Vindices Adventures on the Amstel:
I know everyone wants to see my holiday photos, so heres a mega long entry. Sorry dudes!
So mon homme and I went to Amsterdam. We are up before the songbirds on Saturday morning and by dawn were rolling in to the Starbucks at Birmingham International. A small Americano is the size of a bucket. Heres a funny thing: when I felt as though Id just about drunk my fill of caffeine, I was only a couple of centimetres down my mug. But I battled on a bit longer and next time I looked, the coffee was gone. Starbucks mugs must be the shape of inverted witches hats.
We eat fry-ups. I am anxious about my tummy. My digestive system has been dodgy since I was a wee nipper and lately I havent been able to eat, sleep or walk around without setting off an internal firework display. I dont want to barf as a result of such unnatural early morning activity. We get on the plane and because its 7.30 am we order vodka and cokes. Whoaa dude. Whoever imagined two people could be so rock and roll?? Ma and grandma always told me coke settled the tummy, and vodka settles the nerves. It does the trick.
So we are in Amsterdam by the time the shops are opening, and this is what it looks like.
Our hotel, the Max, is kind of hostel-y, but itll serve our purposes. They have a small in-house dog, called Max. Max is wicked. He looks rather like a long, thin fox in shades ranging from sandy blonde to dark brown, with a thin tail and huge swivelley ears. He doesnt say much.
So we prowl around and find coffee. We dont know where the fuck we are. More to the point, we know where we end up but misjudged where we started out. When we sort ourselves out we head off to the Van Gogh museum. On the approach to Museumplein we find this.
What is this?
Let me draw your attention to an item behind his heel that looks like a) a dildo or b) a large turd.
There is a prize available to the person who can come up with the most likely explanation of what the hell he is doing. I thought bowling. Bowling?
We werent sure if we were in the right place for the Van Gogh museum. Then we noticed we were standing in front of this.
Behind the Rijk museum, we found this pond.
This pond.
As it turns out, the hotel is on a main road running along the south of the city centre, with the Leidseplein at one end, the zoo at the other, and the Rijk museum in the middle. Many of our navigations henceforth involve prowling one way or another along this road, then going up a bit. When we come back to the Max for a half-day/ pre-night change of costume, Max is usually waiting for us in the hall, with his chin on his little paws. We are planning his adoption.
This is how everyone in Amsterdam gets about.
By pigeon, I mean. (See lower right)
Do you think Amsterdam looks like Edinburgh?
While we were in front of the Palace/Oude Kirk/National Monument, this had to happen.
We have a trundle down the red light district and stop for a swift vodka coke in an old man pub there. As we pass the girls in windows Im not really sure whether to make eye contact or not. I wink at one who smokes a fag back at me. You can tell the ones who love their job because theyre all texting/playing stack attack on their phones as you walk by. The brothels appear to be arranged by genre. There is a Larger Ladies house and a Latina one. And a 20-quid-slapper, lycra mini-skirts and boob tubes one, so I think the girls there are probably British. On vodka cokes by the way: wine purchased in bars seems to be slightly cheaper than in bars and pubs in Birmingham, but the spirits are HEINOUS. Or so we think, until we realise that a standard measure in the Netherlands is three times that in the UK. I have a couple of drinks after weve been to the Anne Frank house one day, then wonder where my head is as we take a canal boat trip around the city,
Oh! And of course we have smoke. We are absolutely baffled by the first few hash cafes we put our noses in. They seem to be geared towards people buying in bulk to take away - prices on the list are like, 100 euros - and no-one is very friendly. We end up at the Greenhouse on Voorburgwal. Neither of us have any talent for rolling joints so I ask the nice man if he wouldn't mind. Then I steal the nice man's lighter.
Look.
This is just some caf weve found. Im after making it my house.
This is a clog we found near the red light district. We werent sure if it was cool to sit in it, but no-one was growing flowers in it or anything so we dived in. I am attempting to demonstrate the difference in size between my foot and the foot of the clog-wearer.
Mr Ian has found flyers for a Bourbon Street Blues club, which is one small room with wood-panelling and chandeliers. We have perch, and order in some red wine which, when it comes, tastes pleasantly like sweet brandy. Tonight is Lamars Jam. This is a big black dread-headed dude called Lamar Chase, this random house band and whoever else feels like turning up on stage. They are quite good, and when I say quite good, I mean sensational. ***Lamar Chase, everybody!*** I shall not return home to Birmingham, we shall stay in Amsterdam and hang out every night at Bourbon Street while people play heavy blues and rocking jazz. We could sit listening all night. Or until 4am, which is when they throw people out. My pictures didnt come out so heres one I stole from the website.
We have also checked out Boom Chicago at the Leidseplein theatre. The deal is, a group of American drop-outs decide to relocate to the Netherlands and set up a topical comedy sketch show, a sort of Whose Line is it Anyway Goes to the Amstel. Cue lots of jokes about Osama Bin Laden and the difference between the way American and Dutch girls fuck. Its not total genius, but its gently entertaining.
On the last day, we go to stroke the animals at the zoo.
They have an aquarium.
What do you call a fish with no eyes?
Fssh.
What the fuck is this??
I dont know, and the plaque at the bottom of its tank seems to be missing, so were left to gape in wonder and only guess what grotesque prehistoric throwback we might be looking at.
Speaking of prehistoric, the dude has found a T-Rex.
And Ive found a Steg. That sign says Keep Off the Exhibits in Dutch, but I dont speak Dutch so Im not responsible.
And then we go to the Hard Rock for lunch. Just look at this picture. Man, Im so post-modern it hurts.
And so ends our adventures on the Amstel. When we collect our stuff from the hotel, Maximus is propelling himself around the ground floor by the power of his wagging tail and barking at folk. We stop to tug his ears and say goodbye. The girl at reception says, Take him! Take, take!
Our flight back is at a more sophisticated hour so we drink a more sophisticated Cabernet. Birmingham looks crap as we fly towards it. I must say Im very disappointed to be back. My stomach starts hurting again that evening. Gar. I intend a speedy lottery win, following which I shall do a tour of Italy, then return to Amsterdam, get a place and adopt Mr Max. In the meantime, I need to look for a new place in Brum to live.
This is what Amsterdam looks like at night.
I know everyone wants to see my holiday photos, so heres a mega long entry. Sorry dudes!
So mon homme and I went to Amsterdam. We are up before the songbirds on Saturday morning and by dawn were rolling in to the Starbucks at Birmingham International. A small Americano is the size of a bucket. Heres a funny thing: when I felt as though Id just about drunk my fill of caffeine, I was only a couple of centimetres down my mug. But I battled on a bit longer and next time I looked, the coffee was gone. Starbucks mugs must be the shape of inverted witches hats.
We eat fry-ups. I am anxious about my tummy. My digestive system has been dodgy since I was a wee nipper and lately I havent been able to eat, sleep or walk around without setting off an internal firework display. I dont want to barf as a result of such unnatural early morning activity. We get on the plane and because its 7.30 am we order vodka and cokes. Whoaa dude. Whoever imagined two people could be so rock and roll?? Ma and grandma always told me coke settled the tummy, and vodka settles the nerves. It does the trick.
So we are in Amsterdam by the time the shops are opening, and this is what it looks like.
Our hotel, the Max, is kind of hostel-y, but itll serve our purposes. They have a small in-house dog, called Max. Max is wicked. He looks rather like a long, thin fox in shades ranging from sandy blonde to dark brown, with a thin tail and huge swivelley ears. He doesnt say much.
So we prowl around and find coffee. We dont know where the fuck we are. More to the point, we know where we end up but misjudged where we started out. When we sort ourselves out we head off to the Van Gogh museum. On the approach to Museumplein we find this.
What is this?
Let me draw your attention to an item behind his heel that looks like a) a dildo or b) a large turd.
There is a prize available to the person who can come up with the most likely explanation of what the hell he is doing. I thought bowling. Bowling?
We werent sure if we were in the right place for the Van Gogh museum. Then we noticed we were standing in front of this.
Behind the Rijk museum, we found this pond.
This pond.
As it turns out, the hotel is on a main road running along the south of the city centre, with the Leidseplein at one end, the zoo at the other, and the Rijk museum in the middle. Many of our navigations henceforth involve prowling one way or another along this road, then going up a bit. When we come back to the Max for a half-day/ pre-night change of costume, Max is usually waiting for us in the hall, with his chin on his little paws. We are planning his adoption.
This is how everyone in Amsterdam gets about.
By pigeon, I mean. (See lower right)
Do you think Amsterdam looks like Edinburgh?
While we were in front of the Palace/Oude Kirk/National Monument, this had to happen.
We have a trundle down the red light district and stop for a swift vodka coke in an old man pub there. As we pass the girls in windows Im not really sure whether to make eye contact or not. I wink at one who smokes a fag back at me. You can tell the ones who love their job because theyre all texting/playing stack attack on their phones as you walk by. The brothels appear to be arranged by genre. There is a Larger Ladies house and a Latina one. And a 20-quid-slapper, lycra mini-skirts and boob tubes one, so I think the girls there are probably British. On vodka cokes by the way: wine purchased in bars seems to be slightly cheaper than in bars and pubs in Birmingham, but the spirits are HEINOUS. Or so we think, until we realise that a standard measure in the Netherlands is three times that in the UK. I have a couple of drinks after weve been to the Anne Frank house one day, then wonder where my head is as we take a canal boat trip around the city,
Oh! And of course we have smoke. We are absolutely baffled by the first few hash cafes we put our noses in. They seem to be geared towards people buying in bulk to take away - prices on the list are like, 100 euros - and no-one is very friendly. We end up at the Greenhouse on Voorburgwal. Neither of us have any talent for rolling joints so I ask the nice man if he wouldn't mind. Then I steal the nice man's lighter.
Look.
This is just some caf weve found. Im after making it my house.
This is a clog we found near the red light district. We werent sure if it was cool to sit in it, but no-one was growing flowers in it or anything so we dived in. I am attempting to demonstrate the difference in size between my foot and the foot of the clog-wearer.
Mr Ian has found flyers for a Bourbon Street Blues club, which is one small room with wood-panelling and chandeliers. We have perch, and order in some red wine which, when it comes, tastes pleasantly like sweet brandy. Tonight is Lamars Jam. This is a big black dread-headed dude called Lamar Chase, this random house band and whoever else feels like turning up on stage. They are quite good, and when I say quite good, I mean sensational. ***Lamar Chase, everybody!*** I shall not return home to Birmingham, we shall stay in Amsterdam and hang out every night at Bourbon Street while people play heavy blues and rocking jazz. We could sit listening all night. Or until 4am, which is when they throw people out. My pictures didnt come out so heres one I stole from the website.
We have also checked out Boom Chicago at the Leidseplein theatre. The deal is, a group of American drop-outs decide to relocate to the Netherlands and set up a topical comedy sketch show, a sort of Whose Line is it Anyway Goes to the Amstel. Cue lots of jokes about Osama Bin Laden and the difference between the way American and Dutch girls fuck. Its not total genius, but its gently entertaining.
On the last day, we go to stroke the animals at the zoo.
They have an aquarium.
What do you call a fish with no eyes?
Fssh.
What the fuck is this??
I dont know, and the plaque at the bottom of its tank seems to be missing, so were left to gape in wonder and only guess what grotesque prehistoric throwback we might be looking at.
Speaking of prehistoric, the dude has found a T-Rex.
And Ive found a Steg. That sign says Keep Off the Exhibits in Dutch, but I dont speak Dutch so Im not responsible.
And then we go to the Hard Rock for lunch. Just look at this picture. Man, Im so post-modern it hurts.
And so ends our adventures on the Amstel. When we collect our stuff from the hotel, Maximus is propelling himself around the ground floor by the power of his wagging tail and barking at folk. We stop to tug his ears and say goodbye. The girl at reception says, Take him! Take, take!
Our flight back is at a more sophisticated hour so we drink a more sophisticated Cabernet. Birmingham looks crap as we fly towards it. I must say Im very disappointed to be back. My stomach starts hurting again that evening. Gar. I intend a speedy lottery win, following which I shall do a tour of Italy, then return to Amsterdam, get a place and adopt Mr Max. In the meantime, I need to look for a new place in Brum to live.
This is what Amsterdam looks like at night.
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That is all, just stopping by.