I managed to pack for Europe, with much thanks to my sisters and mother. I didn't have any fun doing it. Mom and Pops drove me in the roomy Camry west to the land with less lakes than Wisconsin (We have 15000). Although there were multiple concerns voiced over the lack of proper airport signage, we made it in plenty of time. I was actually rather early, and when I arrived at Gate 8, Pete was one of the only individuals waiting to board.
We eventually boarded the jumbo jet, and took off in true Scandinavian fashion: on time. This was the longer leg of the trip, heading to Iceland, before a small layover and a plane to Copenhagen. There were some seriously fancy LCDs in each seat, and I spent much of my tv time on the maps section. There was this world map, stretched out on the screen that showed where in the world it was night, and where it was day. The little clipart plane's followed a dotted line that traced the line between night and day. I made an educated guess that I wasn't going to see the sunset for a while.
The time passed quickly, and I changed my watch to Copenhagen time, seven hours ahead of those of you who call the Midwest home. I sat on the southeast side of the plane, and the sky was a dark blue through my window. If I looked across the plane, to the northwest, I could see the sun, still peeking out from the horizon. It was difficult to sleep, but I caught a wink before landing. As we approached the Icelandic coast, I pictured the satellite image on Google maps. It looked identical, this impossibly jagged coast leading up to a taiga, with low mountains in the backdrop.
There was a short layover in Iceland, and boarding for the plane to Copenhagen began soon after arrival. This flight was shorter, but long enough to finish The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, a fantastic quick read. Good film too. Anyhow, everything went smoothly as we landed on a rainy afternoon. The rain continued as we boarded the train to the city centre. The plan was to toss our luggage in the basement locker storage at Cph H, and walk around the city until our host for the evening, Nicolai, finished at work and could let us into his Norrebro apartment. Only stairs down to the luggage lockers, so we carried everything down only to find full lockers and a massive line to check bags.
So we hauled everything out the back door, and started our short trek to Nicolai's apartment. The rain held of until we were half a block from the place, so we ducked into an alley to wait out the worst. The rain weaned, and we walked the rest of the way to the apartment, waiting in the courtyard under a small tree until Nicolai arrived. In the mean time, I went to buy some of Copenhagen's famous hot dogs. The concessionaire moved too fast for me to attempt tracking the condiments. All said, it was great. Spicy, sweet, crunchy, and hotdoggy. Nicolai returned from work around 16:30, and we moved everything into the apartment. As I mentioned, Nicolai lives in the Norrebro neighborhood near the station. The neighborhood used to be notorious for drugs and crime, but has since been renovated, and now hosts the city's young professional class. Nicolai's apartment is comfortable, and there was plenty of room to sleep.
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So I just read the previous paragraphs, and they bored me. And they're about me, so I'm sorry. I've been travelling in Holland this week, and haven't really logged the kind of computer time necessary to complete a quality blog entry. This, coupled with the fact that all sorts of crazy stuff has been happening, means a long afternoon at the computer when I'm back in Copenhagen. I'll attempt to play catch-up.
Pete and I took a short flight from Copenhagen to Amsterdam on Tuesday evening. We arrived at Schipol Int'l around the time the Dutch v. Romania Euro Cup game began, and it was obvious even in the airport that Orange Fever has gripped the city and had no plans to let go. Walking out of Amsterdam Centraal and into the carnival was a very weird feeling. It was all too familiar, and yet so damn anonymous. We hadn't booked a hostel in advance, due to a late-notice change in plans, but I knew of a place that didn't accept reservations, so we'd at least have a shot.
We walked into Bob's Youth Hostel after a short walk, and found the small downstairs lounge packed with people. The Dutch were winning and the three employees behind the counter were engaged in a death stare with the TV. I asked if there were rooms, and received an immediate yes. I then offered to wait to check-in until the game finished, and in response the Dutchman behind the desk handed us each a Heineken. As the story goes, the Dutch went on to victory, and we dragged our bags up four flights of teeny-tiny Dutch stairs, and claimed the hostel's last remaining beds. It was only 22:00 at the time, but there were already (or still) people sleeping in the room. This is not uncommon in an Amsterdam hostel. Other common sights: boxes of candy, unopened packs, and red eyes.
Pete was excited to be in the city for some of the right reasons. The Netherlands have this legend quality, and most people only remember those aspects that make it notorious, and in the process never really get to learn about the country and the people. I did my best to expose Pete to some of those other aspects. Enough preaching. After a tour of the Red Light and a stop at the Bulldog, we took a back route past the Oude Kerk and in the general direction of Bob's. One particular alley contained a large fire ladder, and a crowd had gathered. We watched with morbid fascination as a man on a stretcher was removed from a 4th floor window. I spent most of the time before he appeared hoping it wasn't an obese person being removed because the stairs were too small. This wasn't much better. With a weird mood on, we went back to the hostel to hang out in the lounge for a bit, watching the effects of an Amsterdam week unfold in the chairs around us.
Free breakfast gets me out of bed. This isn't an English breakfast, with hearty helpings of all things greasy and good. A Dutch breakfast is pretty simple: two pieces of bread (not toast), jam, a hardboiled egg, and a cup of tea. It's not a bad way to start the day. We took a walk west, toward an American establishment called Grey Area. It wasn't quite open, so a whirlwind tour of the West-Centraal district followed. The weather was really good most of the day, hot even, and the ever-threatening Dutch skies seemed to subside for the day. We lunched at a Turkish restaurant near the Red Light, and were served shwarama with a side of blunt political opinion. It's fairly obvious everyone has an opinion on an American Presidential race.
The Red Light is a different place during the day; the hip shops and quaint cafes stand out more than the bright red lights and whispers of "Coca, ecstasy, coca, ecstasy..." By some chance, we stumbled upon the World Press Photo 08 exhibition, which was being shown at the Oude Kerk. It's a display of the year's best photojournalism, and I had the good fortune to view the previous year's in Utrecht. The photos are all pretty powerful, and this exhibit had the added bonus of computer kiosks where one could find endless information on the photographers and their chosen work. Some poor Dutchman made the mistake of asking me a few questions about the exhibit, and I talked his ear off for it. A few times I noticed I'd speak for two minutes, and he'd jot four words down for an answer. I'm not fluent in Nederlands, but I'm not sure he was getting that down verbatim.
Later back at the hostel lounge, we ran into a mess of Canadians. I shared a yerba mate with two nice girls from British Colombia, and Pete struck up convo with two Winnipegers (sp?). The latter seemed to have a good knowledge of the surrounding area, and we joined them for dinner at a place simply called The King, and later stopped by Cafe BEN for some R&R. After a long search for a bar with four seats, we found ourselves at the cusp of the Red Light, at a Western-themed bar called Suzie's Saloon. A jukebox filled with country music and the necessary saloon doors greeted us there.
I woke up Thursday morning to rain. The rain in Holland can almost always be called a drizzle, and this was no different. Pete and I put on the raingear and took a walk down to Museumplein (just past Leidseplein..). It's nice to see Amsterdam in the rain, functioning more like a normal city as tourists flock into cafes and locals go about their everyday business. We thrifted for our requisite medieval/fantasy costumes for the upcoming Midsummer party in the Dutch countryside, and soon boarded a train south for Utrecht, where we've spent the past few days. I'll relate the last few days when I next have time, and maybe upload a few photos. Until then, Happy (early) Birthday Mom!
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