Archived posting to the Leica Users Group, 2001/01/01
[Author Prev] [Author Next] [Thread Prev] [Thread Next] [Author Index] [Topic Index] [Home] [Search]i urge you all to please visit this text on the web where all my fine photographs are included: http://www.asc.upenn.edu/usr/cassidy/pix/travel/iceland-holland-2000/ Reykjavik Diary An account, in some words but mostly pictures, of our adventures in Iceland and Holland during the last days of the century. December 2000 kyle cassidy part 3 of 4 Amsterdam Is Made Of Bicycles There are no fat people in Europe. The Dutch are all as skinny as New York supermodels. They have to -- otherwise they wouldn't be able to fit four people on a bicycle. The Dutch think nothing of riding four on a bike -- three is typical (the one sitting on the handlebars is invariably holding the umbrella), but four isn't anything to call the media about. To outsiders, it's something akin to clowns pouring out of a Volkswagen and we stop and stare every time we see three hundred and sixty pounds of Dutch on a rusty 1970's era bike tooling along to wherever these people go. Tuesday Linda and Joe and Matt head off to Brussels. I opt to hang out in Amsterdam and try and explore as much of the city as I can on foot without getting run over by a bicycle. I'd been toying with the idea of getting my hair cut -- who knows. It'll depend on where I end up. With the vague idea of heading over to the Anne Frank house and watching the tourists I start making my way West through narrow streets, constantly in a state of renovation, everything's being ripped up to make way for something else. I pass through a gallery district (there are many) but all the galleries are closed. Peering in through the windows I wonder what sells here. I pass a youth hostel with a sign in the window reminding the residents that the stoop is not a gathering place and the neighbors would certainly appreciate it if everybody either stayed inside or went somewhere else. In Global Chillange I meet Annya and Monique, one of Amsterdam's "Brown" coffee shops. It got a special "thumbs up" in the "Get Lost!" guide I've been carrying around in my back pocket. Annya's from Poland. "I live for this music," she says, indicating the trance playing on the bar's turntable, "that's why I'm here. That and I want to be a fashion designer." I find myself sitting at a table with the strangely named Mark and Luke, they're rolling cigarettes and chatting at one another in Dutch when Mark looks up at me and says: "American, yes?" "Yes." I've heard people say that if anybody asks you what country you're from you should say Canada, but it would be pretty transparent. I can't name four cities in Canada. "Who appointed Rhenquist?" he asks. I pause for a minute. I wouldn't expect this from Americans, let alone someone in a coffee shop in the Netherlands. "Nixon," I say. "Aah," says Luke, "then Gore is lost? The court will decide for Bush?" "I don't know," I say. "The court is very States Rights centric, which would make me believe they're rule in favor of Gore, saying that Florida has a constitutional right to decide it's own election. But if they were going to do that, they wouldn't have agreed to take the case. So I don't know." "It's a mystery," says Luke, who has one eyebrow that covers his entire forehead. He seems very stoned. We have a president The wait is over. CNN World News tells us that the Supreme Court in the U.S. has remanded Gore's request for a recount back to the Florida supreme court with a deadline to recount that has already passed. Essentially ending the election. Gore expected to make a concession speech this evening, which is some crazy time in europe. I have no idea when it's going to be on. We all breathe some sigh; whether it's of relief or angst who's to say. It's over anyway. And what a voyage it's been. Wednesday Rembrandt and Van Gogh I've never been impressed by Van Gogh and today's no exception. I have no patience for impressionists or post-impressionists. The Reichsmuseum is nice, though I find myself underwhelmed by their Rembrandt collection, an indication that Holland has been looted for hundreds of years. The national gallery in D.C. has a pretty stunning collection of Rembrants all somehow ripped off from Holland over the intervening centuries; but they don't have the Nightwatch. I stop in and check out the photo gallery. Matt seems to be dying from some sort of culture shock. He looks dreadfully bored. "I thought we've been here like three hours," he says, looking at his watch, "it's only been 45 minutes!" Previously Matt had told me he wanted to checkout some museums "because I have like zero culture." He did like the Van Gogh museum. Dancing With The Green Fairy One thing I knew that I wanted to do while in europe was drink absinthe, the strange liquor that inspired Oscar Wilde, Hemingway, Van Gogh and a host of others, made illegal in the 1930's because, well, because it's poisonous. Exaggerated absinthe drinking has been linked to hallucinations, ringing in the ears, madness and death. It's all from the wormwood. And as Amste is the Disneyland of vice and debauchery, you can get absinthe at the the Absinthe Lounge # 171 Nieuwezijds Voorburgwal street. I'd read about it on the Internet. And let me say now, if you go to Amsterdam, go to Absinthe. It's cave-like and very hip0 you'll never get one. photo linda The bartender was a woman about 23 or 24 in a horizontal striped shirt and puffs of hair jutting out in pigtails (which Linda told me were fake). She poured us four small glasses of absinthe and we retired to a cornout four feet six, spun trance records, eyes closed, headphones clutched to her ears swaying back and forth like a little metronome. I wondered why she thought she needed the headphones. After years of anticipation and speculation, well, absinthe tastes d the stuff, so can I. While we're talking about the horribleness of absinthe (everybody else has long since switched to heinekin, except Linda, who's trying to teach the bartender how to make a cosmopolitan) a guy sitting at the bar near us rolling a hu" "Haahaha! What do you think of your new president, George Wanker Boooosh?" There follows another spate of laughter and a couple other people gather around to ask us how we feel about our new president, George Wanker Boooosh, and every time they say we've all been tossing back Heinikin, the tap water of Holland, we buy our new friends Jack Daniels. Not quite the tap water of America, but not so bad. (The tap water of America is probably Budweiser, but who would want to embarrass themselves by handingrsation, people from all over Europe, an office party from Belfast collides into us. Somehow the conversation keeps turning back to George Bush. They seem incredulous that the man got any votes. I can't offer any answers, that seems to baffle them just ssels, two hours, off the train, eat Belgian waffles (very important to them that these be consumed in Belgium) then two hours back to Amsterdam just in time to fall asleep around midnight. I, on the other hand, am looking forward to doing laundry tomorrowne to the grocery store and the laundromat and the bar without all the tourists..... Despite having to get up early the next morning, Matt doesn't want to go, as he's making some progress with some girl sitting at the bar. He waves us off and we vanish in a puff of rain.