Boston to Amsterdam day two

 As the night blurred into the morning I was beginning to regret my good deed for the day, trading my aisle seat for a middle by the lavatories and galley so a husband and wife could sit together. There’s something about being woken up by flushing noises over and over that just gets on me. After a short eternity we landed and I breezed my way through immigration. After a month of travel and constantly being on the road, I’ve just managed to leave my country.

The train from the airport to Amsterdam Centraal was a simple enough 10 minute run. There I was, Amsterdam, canals, overcast skies. There’s something about the head high of sleep deprivation and jet lag that just makes everything so wonderful. I walked to my hostel, not easy with that mental state and needing to not get hit by trams and bicycles. I was so excited to put my head down and equally disappointed when I found that my room would not be ready for about 6 more hours. The bag went into storage and I hit the road in search of a croissant and some tea.

To familiarize myself with the city and hopefully meet some English speakers to spend time with, I took a walking tour. Amsterdam is a strange place. The city is about 800 years old but the oldest buildings are only half that age. It took the Dutch 400 years of trial and error to figure out how to build foundations in marshland without your house sinking every few years. The whole city is built up on wood pilings like a pier. Some pilings sink faster than others and this means the built up environment is in a constant state of flux. Houses tilt and sidewalks undulate. Even the stones have life here. The guide teaches us the history of the city, the proper price to pay for stroopwaffels and gives us a few ideas for what we should do next.

The life of a stone

I decided I was starving and went to a Dutch restaurant. The cuisine out here is the kind of thing that gets made fun of on the world stage, that doesn’t mean it has nothing to offer. Pea soup, sausage, and a zillion kinds of mashed potatoes. Rounding it out was Geneveer, a cousin of gin that tastes like white lightning and herbs. Not my thing.

The language here is messing with my head. English is my mother tongue and I also speak some German. With how tired I am, Dutch is starting to slide into the uncanny valley and I feel like I should understand it. Obviously I don’t but there are enough cognates for me to navigate signs and warnings. Eavesdropping is unfortunately off the table.

A slow meandering walk back to the hostel and I’ve checked in. I finally get my nap. Waking up, lands me at about 6, time for the hostel’s social hour. Free pool speaks to me and I found an Aussie, Zak racking up a game. We get along nicely and after taking turns stuffing the 8 ball into different pockets, we head out for the night. Our first stop was one of Amsterdam’s famous coffee shops for some of that famous Amsterdam coffee. Not my usual drink but when in Rome. Our next stop was a fantastic cocktail bar. Rosalia’s Menagerie replaced the lobby of the second smallest hotel in the city. Our bartender tells us that it gets busy over the weekend and it can be tough to check people in during a jam packed drink service. 

The bartender recommends Old Sailor in the red light district as our next stop. At this bar I get my Amstel on. The beer pours out in large glass mugs and we sit in the same booths that sailors got shitfaced in 400 years ago. There was something so surreal about being in a bar so old and looking out the window to see the local businesswomen advertising their services in the windows nearby. The red light district has always been controversial but now it is dying. OnlyFans has given the clientele less risky access to feeling satisfied and provides the workers with safety as well. To support history, I popped a two euro coin into the slot at a peep show. I always make a point to patronize the arts.

Not a nude

The night gets blurrier and I get going back to the hostel. A great first evening.