Day 10: Leaving Amsterdam

Okay, first, the jacket. I saw it on Day 1 or 2, and it was magnificent. I made a point to comment to D. [who suffers me better than anyone should] that the jacket was remarkably stylish in a way that would never be appreciated in America. It was a non-descript tan waterproof men’s jacket with a stand up collar. Straight cut, without the usual non-sensical elastic at the bottom that does nothing but make men look fatter. The jacket was smartly styled but non-descript save for one notable feature: orange piping around the zip pockets and zip front. That detail transformed the jacket from being a bore to being something that I will obsess over until my dying day. I’m like that.

That being said, I did buy one of the faggiest shirts [unknowingly] in Paris. I loved the pattern but the cut is one of those weird French dress shirts with fake French cuffs and a high collar. I look like a member of Spandau Ballet.

So we spent some time after Paris [and a brief sojourn in Brussels] in Amsterdam looking for that damned jacket.

We arrived back in Amsterdam late on Tuesday. We checked in to the Marriott and discovered that it did not have wireless connectivity, nor was the in-room connectivity anything close to affordable. So we trekked in search of connectivity, which we found outside of a bar near the Herengracht. D. had dinner at McDonald’s, though he did not have the McMomentje, or whatever it is called. That means that twice that day he ate at McDonald’s [I must note that the breakfast at the Paris McDonald’s was great. Their version of the McMuffin has it all over ours. And later that morning, in the bakery on Rue Beaubourg, the counter woman at the bakery chided my French, after which I said “Ecoutez et repetez!, and she laughed. I thanked her for the lesson.] We had a couple of drinks at the bar, I admired the nonpareil beauty of the Dutch women, and D. went out while I went back to the Marriott for some much-needed sleep.

So on our final full day in Europe, what did we do? Quite a lot actually. We had breakfast at the hotel [mediocre, but blissfully it was expensive as well], and went for a bike tour with Mike’s Bike Tours. Our gay stoner Canadian ex-pat guide, Pete, took us on a tour that revealed his profound and abiding interest in getting stoned. But we learned. And mainly – for me – we got off our asses in a way that did not involve walking. Traveling with D. means that your main mode of transport will be a la pied. And he has a pair of those god-forsaken Masai Barefoot Technology shoes that one would think can also cure cancer. So walk we did. But the bike tour was a nice respite from hoofing it. Next time I travel with D., I will get shoed by a blacksmith beforehand.

D. complained that the bike tour of Paris was not “vigorous” enough for him [what does that mean?], the Amsterdam tour made up for that. It was vigorous, lengthy and filled with all the dangers that biking through an unfamiliar city can bring.

The bike tour took us outside of town and we saw more of the canal system, a windmill, a statue of Rembrandt, and a cheese-and-clog factory [did you know that one existed?] The c-and-c factory produced some fantastic smoked gouda, so like the good tourist, I bought a wheel even though I am not a cheese person. We saw the making of both items, and then were shepherded in to the store to buy [feeling much like the cows that were outside making the raw materials for the cheese, but thankfully not for the shoes.]

During the tour, we befriended a woman from California named B., and we had beers and pancakes with her. D. had bacon and onion, I had ham and mushroom. They were much like American pancakes save for the fact that they were filled with meats and other savory flavors. That did not stop D. from putting Stroop on his. Stroop is a burnt sugar syrup product, essentially maple syrup without the maple. It was a nice meal, and a nice way to cap our evening. We then went to Haarlam, just to look around. It seemed like a nice little city, with a quaint little train station. We walked around for a bit and enjoyed the warmer weather that had finally come our way after a week of intermittent rain and biting cold. When we arrived back in Amsterdam, D. had a headache, I did not. So I walked the canals, much like the protagonist in The Fall, while D. went back to Marriott, where one of the largest and most comfortable beds in all of Europe waited for him.

The solitary evening walk was a most enjoyable way to end my first trip to the Continent. I found most of the trip to be near perfect. Europe was a riddle waiting to be answered, and I found the answer to be satisfying to me in many ways. From the people who laughed at my bad French [only a couple, mercifully], to the small kindnesses from many strangers, to the little charms I found in so many unexpected corners. And of course, the tiny cars, the brisk weather, the fashion sense, the seriousness and intelligence of the residents, the bicycles with baskets, the trains, the fact that – as D. remarked – literally half a dozen nations packed into a small space which had fought bitter wars against each other and still had distinct cultures and languages, yet managed to co-exist and share a currency, rail systems and so much shared history. It shouldn’t work but it does.

This morning, we went back to Pancake Corner, and amidst working girls, smokers and local eurotrash boys, we [again] had breakfast – but this time in the morning. This was the first non-McDonald’s breakfast that reminded me of home and it was vastly welcome. The orange juice, uniformly, has been excellent in Europe.

So, now, we’re on the plane, heading to Houston and then onto Los Angeles, and for the vast majority of the flight, it will be daylight until we arrive in Los Angeles this evening [it has been light late every night. So it goes in the higher latitudes] D. has it in his head that he will drive back to Napa tonight, I think that that is a ludicrous idea, but he is the border collie on steroids.