The Canals of Amsterdam, Part Four

FYI, the complete set of The Canals of Amsterdam can be found here: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

When you talk about Amsterdam, or more specifically, when you talk about visiting Amsterdam, there are one or two fun facts that always get asked about by people. The first one is the legalized pot they sell all around the city in its various "coffee" shops. Pot and Amsterdam are as close as Guinness and Ireland, or sunny skies and Saudi Arabia.

The other famous Amsterdam factoid is the infamous Red Light District, Amsterdam's neighborhood of legalized prostitution and sex shops . Everyone always wants to know about the Red Light District, and when you talk about Amsterdam, it's an unavoidable topic of conversation. And so, I suppose, when you write about Amsterdam, the Red Light District is, inevitably, going to get brought up.


Bicyclemark, the legendary citizen reporter of the 'Dam, owns a small boat called The Red August. If that name suggests something revolutionary and vaguely socialistic, then that is probably how Bicyclemark wants it.

A ride through the canals of Amsterdam on The Red August had been promised by Mark during the planning stages of the trip. Another Dutch blogger, just a nameless girl who goes by Just a Girl, came up from the south to join us. We were enjoying a small backyard party at Mark's home, the Politburo (see above), and dusk was settling in, and we were anxious to get into that damn boat.

Mark graciously tore himself away from the garden shindig and took us to where his boat was docked, a short walk from his home. As the light disappeared behind the brick buildings of the city, we boarded Mark's small boat and set off for our ride.

Most of the canals were built in the 17th century, for residential development and defense purposes. They form a series of concentric half-circles throughout the city and are Amsterdam's number one tourist attraction, giving the city the nickname, "the Venice of the North."

After wandering through the city's various canals, we made our way onto the Amstel River after an hour or so in the boat. Party boats passed us by, we floated under bridges packed with people enjoying their Saturday night, and we watched it all happen from a small red boat cutting through the night-dark water. Much of the city is designed to be seen by canal, and once we were out on the water, and saw the city lit at night, from the perspective of the quiet network of canals, Neuwirth and I started to understand and appreciate the city better.


As we bobbed along on the river, Mark seemed to be having a small conversation with himself, tilting his head this way and that, until he finally came to a decision. "I thought about taking us over here... Hmm. Yeah, I should show you that. Nahh. Let's go to the red light district." He turned the boat around and we left the wide river, moving into a narrow canal that cut through the heart of the city.

Soon enough the crowds along the canals became thicker, louder, and the quiet calm of the dark canal was replaced by a neon electric thrum that pulsed out from every shop window, every street.

I don't think the Amsterdam Red Light District is something I would have visited on my own, or even with a game travel partner like Bobby Neuwirth tagging along. It's just... not my thing, you know? There's too much of a "tee-hee" quality to the whole thing. Back in the states I've never felt the need to hire a prostitute, legal or illegal, drunk or sober, and even with the Amsterdam better business bureau making this choice a lot easier for me, I find that I'm content to just watch it glide by as I sail along on Mark's boat.

It's like a more pornographic version of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disney World. It feels just as artificial, only here you're allowed to get off the boat and join the drunken carousing, if you're so inclined.

Later that night, after the canals were done, we found ourselves in a former city morgue, now transformed into a late-night museum of modern art. One room had a mixed-media collage of people running in a park or doing trust exercises; another held a large curved room divider that caught JaG's eye and we finished out our night posing in front of it and taking pictures.

Until JaG accidentally kicked it while leaping in the air; then we got the hell out of there.


Sunday morning came 'round and we said goodbye to the Hotel de Filosoof; said goodbye to Bicyclemark and Jag; said goodbye to the bikes, to the beer, and to the canals. Hauled our packs into Centraal Station and bought tickets for the next stop, Antwerp, Belgium, and continued on with our travels.

The Canals of Amsterdam, Part Three

FYI, the complete set of The Canals of Amsterdam can be found here: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four


That girl looks like JaG, I thought to myself.

Wait a minute. You've never actually seen this girl in person, and you think that's her, up ahead?

Yeah. Maybe. The hair looks about right. And those clothes seem like something she would wear.

You're crazy. What are you gonna do? Shout out her name for all of Amsterdam to hear? If you're wrong, you'll look like the Stereotypical American Tourist Who Mistakes Pedestrians for Dutch Bloggers. Don't ruin it, man.

(This is the conversation I had with myself while we walked along the road towards The Politburo, home of the other Dutch blogger, Bicyclemark. )

Bicyclemark is not Dutch, actually. He's from Jersey. But he also has Portuguese citizenship through his parents, and so he gets to live in the EU fairly easily. At least, easier than I would have it, since the last time my Scottish ancestors lived in Europe the Civil War hadn't even been fought yet.

Neuwirth and I arrived with a sixer of Heineken in our hands. There was an elaborate dinner being grilled in the back garden, but through the miracle of miscommunication or misunderstanding or misdirection, we had already eaten. And that girl that I thought was JaG? Yep, it was her.

And before I go any further, let me address the fact that I was arriving at a Saturday night Dutch barbeque with a six-pack of Heineken. In the states, or at least in the smaller cities in the states, if you arrive with Heineken, you're considered someone with reasonably-decent taste. At the very least, you're not That Guy who brought his half-empty case of Miller Lite to the party.

But who are you if you show up to a party in Amsterdam with their most well-known beer? Would I get a dismissive shrug, a tut-tutting behind my back about my predictable choice in lager? Honest, I tried to get something interesting, but this was the only thing they had in the cooler.

(Truthfully, I wasn't even concerned about what people would say; I just wanted to drink something a bit more interesting and exotic than something I can buy at Target.)

And no one really cared about what I brought; they weren't really drinking beer, as far as I could tell.

JaG and I finally met, and we talked about various things that people talk about when they sort of know each other. We talked about education a bit (we're both teachers), and more about the state of blogging. JaG likes to treat her blog, and the act in general, like a former boyfriend that she doesn't love anymore, but I think she still has a soft spot for it at times.

More people arrived, and Mark spent some time socializing as the sun went down, but Neuwirth and I kept to ourselves, afraid that if we drank too much, or got too social with people, we might miss our chance of getting on that boat.

"I don't think it's gonna happen, man. I think he forgot."

No, no, he'll take us out there. JaG just said he told her we were going out on the boat. The boat! It'll happen!

I suddenly remembered Neuwirth and I driving to the airport almost a week ago. We're both two guys who grew up in a fairly land-locked area, Lake Michigan aside. Nautical lifestyles lived by those people from island nations or coastal areas is a strange and mysterious concept to us. In addition to flying across the Atlantic for the very first time, on a plane, Neuwirth was also gonna be on a boat! On several boats! He was very excited and couldn't stop playing this song.

We had to get on that boat.

To be continued...

The Canals of Amsterdam, Part Two

FYI, the complete set of The Canals of Amsterdam can be found here: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four


Neuwirth and I figured we should get a little culture in our system, as opposed to all of the beer and English breakfasts we had been ingesting, so we spent Saturday morning in Amsterdam at the Rijksmuseum. It was either this or the Van Gogh museum, so Neuwirth went with the Rijks.

Upon further reflection, Neuwirth chose poorly, and aside from the Dutch burrito place that he chose later than evening for dinner, this was one of the only disappointing decisions he made on our behalf. When you go to Amsterdam, go to the Van Gogh museum. Or at least choose to visit the Rijksmuseum when it is not going through a massive renovation. The pickings will be slightly better than the "greatest hits" of Dutch masters that we ended up seeing.


We finally met up with Bicyclemark in the early afternoon. He arrived, naturally, on his bike, and was taller than I imagined him to be. I always imagine bloggers to be shorter than they actually are, for some reason. I have this same problem with The Gurrier. Maybe it's all those photos taken from a webcam that throws off my perspective.

Mark showed us around the park, and an indoor horse stable, where we watched people take riding lessons, all riding "English" to my eyes. A youth spent riding Western will always make me think this other method somewhat odd.

We eventually found ourselves at Mark's home, a three-story building known as The Politburo by its many, varied residents. A lesbian couple, visiting frisbee enthusiasts, and others that were either away on holiday or wandering around the many rooms. Users of the toilet are asked to sit while urinating, regardless of gender, and are politely reminded to clean the seat after each use. It was easily the most unique residence I have ever seen, to say the least.

Mark made himself a snack and we talked about the philosophy of hacking. Now, since this is Amsterdam, and I have already made reference to backpackers and hippies and traveling frisbee players, it would be natural to assume that I am talking about hacky-sack. You would be wrong in this assumption.

Hacking can refer to anything from lock-picking enthusiasts to computer programming to Matthew Broderick's character in War Games. Hackers like to take things apart, they like to break into things, and they believe in free and open access to anything related to computers and software and things like that. "Hacking" can take on many terms, and even after talking to Mark about it, I still don't feel like I fully understand it. I know it involves more than illegally downloading music and films, and is more than just a bunch of social misfits trying to break into the Pentagon, but its overall goals are still a mystery to me.

Mark announced that he had some business to take care of, so we decided to part ways for a while, until JaG showed up later that evening. We were a bit surprised by this turn of events, since we had just seen THE FORMER JAIL CELLS IN THE BASEMENT OF THE POLITBURO, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! WHAT OTHER FANTASTIC DUTCH MYSTERIES DO YOU HAVE HIDDEN IN THE "POLITBURO", MR. BICYCLEMARK, IF THAT REALLY IS YOUR NAME?

We headed back to the Hotel of Curiously Decorated Rooms, relaxed a bit, ate the aforementioned Dutch burritos, and waited to meet up with Mark and JaG. We were getting excited. A ride through the canals on Mark's boat, The Red August, was promised.

To be continued...

The Canals of Amsterdam, Part One

About five years ago a guy named Bicyclemark started commenting on my blog.

This was back when everyone blogged. Well, not everyone, but it was a new thing, and there was a nice community of people from all over the world that took the time to write about their daily lives, and they read and they commented on other peoples' lives.

Some people rolled their eyes at this supposedly-narcissistic activity, and wondered why in the hell you would want to know what someone halfway around the world ate for dinner? Why was it important for the average person to write about the last movie they saw, or what they did with their friends on a Saturday night? Writing was for the professionals; why let amateurs screw everything up with their half-hearted attempts at prose or, (even worse), poetry?

This past August I met up with a couple of bloggers from the Netherlands, and along the way hopefully answered the questions of those people who never understood what blogging was about.

I've been traveling overseas for years, mostly Ireland and the UK. When you travel solo, when you hope to spend your evenings talking to strange people in foreign locales, it helps to stick to countries where you know the local language. This theory falls apart a little when you realize how many people speak English around the world, so maybe I just like going to Ireland a lot.

Each time I plan a trip I always try to figure out how I can fit Amsterdam into the itinerary. Mark and I have been blog-friends for a long time now, and I felt bad that I hadn't made it over there to visit him. There was Just a Girl, too, another Holland blogger I had been reading for years, and I felt a slight digital pang of jealousy when the L.A. blogger Tony Pierce made it over there a few years ago and arranged their first meeting.

When my friend Neuwirth said he wanted to do the Grand Tour overseas, I made sure that Amsterdam was on the list of places to see. Time to finally meet Bicyclemark and find out what this guy was all about.

Neuwirth and I flew into Amsterdam on a warm Friday night in August, and our first view of the city was the Central Station in the heart of the city.

Now, for those of you who avoid European travel in general, and Amsterdam in particular, I don't recommend making the Station Amsterdam Centraal your first stop. Every bad cliche you have heard about the 'Dam being home to a bunch of dirty pot-smoking layabouts will be unfortunately confirmed. After spending the first three days of our trip in the bucolic green splendor of northern Wales, a muggy, crowded rail station full of college backpackers and shifty-looking hippies took some getting used to.

Disoriented and tired after a day of traveling from Betws-y-coed to Amsterdam by way of a brief stopover in Liverpool, we eventually found the correct tram and made our way to the Hotel de Filosoof. Translated, that means The Hotel of Philosophy, or The Philosophy Hotel, depending on whether you like your European place-names Americanized or not. Recommended by Mark, and as stated on their website, "each of the 38 rooms is decorated in different philosophical and cultural themes."

This should give you another clue as to the unique qualities Amsterdam possesses. While they may be known for being ground zero for the world's soft-drug culture, not to mention an entire area of town dedicated to legalized prostitution, they also have hotel rooms dedicated to Søren Kierkegaard and Confucius. Amsterdam, you are a city of many hidden secrets and delights.

I am not sure which philosopher, or school of philosophy, our room was devoted to. All I know is that there many, many pictures of women on the walls. We apparently got the power-of-the-female room, but on the plus side, it did have a nice view of the garden.

Mark had a date that evening, and JaG wouldn't be in town until Saturday, so Neuwirth and I spent the evening wandering around the neighborhood and drinking a lot of booze. We sat outside and watched people glide by on their bicycles, one after another. I don't know if Bicyclemark got his name before he came to live in Amsterdam, but after seeing the bike culture here, I don't think he could live in any city but this one.

To be continued...




FYI, the complete set of The Canals of Amsterdam can be found here: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

A Few Photos

The Story So Far (in brief)

I am in Antwerp, which is in Belgium. I have been in several other cities before this.

I am in Antwerp, because we woke up this morning and decided that this is where we should go. A man named Bicyclemark suggested it, and so Antwerp won out over other Belgian cities like Bruges, Ghent, or Brussels.

I am in Antwerp, and it is awesome.

I am not going to bother describing Antwerp, at least not for now. I have other things to write about, since I've been traveling for almost a week now, and this is the first time I've sat down to write anything proper online.

This is the short version, written in a swanky hotel room in Antwerp, on a Sunday night, drinking foreign beer out of cans, after a long dinner at a French bistro near the hotel. We would have been at a bar, but they're closing up, on a Sunday night.

Bobby Neuwirth and I spent a few days hiking in a small town in Wales. I was once there before, seven years ago. Betwys-y-coed. We also visited Annie's parents a few miles down the road, but that's a tale that deserves its own telling.

We wandered north by northeast after that, winding up in Liverpool to catch a quick flight to Amsterdam. Even with catching the early train out of Betws, we didn't have enough time to explore Liverpool and investigate any Beatle business.

Amsterdam was a strange mix, of highlights and disappointments. Chose the Rijksmuseum over the Van Gogh museum. Fail. Took a cruise through the canals with Bicyclemark and JaG, which was one of the high points of the trip. Again, this will get its own story.

When you travel solo, you have a lot of time to think and write, but when you travel with someone, you spend more time involved with everything around you. This is a good thing.

There are a million stories I want tell, and they'll be told, but there's just been too much travelin' to be done.

To be continued...