Singing Men in Boats

For the past week, I've been hearing this singing, chanting, almost war-like, like the Vikings going off to conquer new lands, or Braveheart and his men ready to defend their own land. I wasn't sure where it was coming from. The first night, I thought it was from a pub or bar, probably a soccer game. It went on for most of the night. The next night I heard it again, but it seemed to be coming from a different direction. I went out on my balcony to try to figure out which direction it was coming from and it seemed to move, fading and getting louder and changing direction.

Finally, I found out it was coming from boatloads of young, preppy guys who ride around on the canals and was determined to capture them on video. Every time I'd hear the singing getting closer, I'd run out onto my scary balcony/terrace and try to film them. I missed each time, either being too late, or it being too dark.

Today they came around while it was still light and I not only captured the amazing sound that their voices create while echoing through the buildings, but also a glimpse, however brief, of the guys making all of the noise. Ah, to be young, blond and Dutch!

My Apartment

I am enjoying my apartment so much here, sometimes it's hard to leave. I'm on the top floor of a four story building. There is a very narrow, winding set of wooden stairs that climb up here - kind of like stairs that you would climb to the top of a lighthouse on. The apartment is an open plan design, except for the bedroom which is its own little room, and of course, the bathroom, which is private. The kitchen is nice and big and looks out onto the dining area and the living space. There is one big bank of french doors with windows and a little balcony with a sliding glass door. When I open the french door and the sliding door to the balcony, I get a really nice cross breeze. The apartment is always filled with light and the sky is always changing and visible. Even when it gets dark, I can see stars from up here. It's really amazing. If I were to live in Amsterdam, I'd want to live here.

My "landlord" is a very nice guy too. He was great about getting me a mosquito net yesterday. I was sitting down at the computer today about to send him an e-mail. I was looking up how to say "thank you" in Dutch. I knew there was a formal and informal way and was not sure which was which and which I should use. I had the e-mail form ready and had just begun my search when there was a knock on the door. It was Machiel, my landlord, who lives downstairs. He said he was checking to see how I slept. I told him I was just going to send him an e-mail. It was a very strange coincidence, so much so that I wonder if he believed me.

I then told him I found one of the little diffuser thingies for the citronella oil. He asked me where, and I told him Gouda.

He was very surprised that I went to Gouda. He asked why.

I had to tell him I was looking for stroopwafels.

I wonder if he thinks I am very strange, or just a little.

But then he told me a little about Gouda. He said there have been some tensions there with youth of Moroccan descent. He didn't tell me much, but I found it interesting that here I was in this place looking for stroopwafels, otherwise known for cheese, with a very visible old medieval center and a not very visible current social upheaval.

I don't know what the tension is about, but I am sensing that the immigrants in the Netherlands might not be as happy as one would think. I don't know why, but I can imagine.

I've definitely seen a race/class relationship in my short time here that I know so little about, I probably should not even mention it, but I will. For example the women working as cashiers at the supermarket are mostly women of color. When I ride my bike to the outer sections of Amsterdam, I see more minority communities, especially Arab (and possibly Persian, Armenian, etc). I've just noticed a difference in terms of the spaces different types of people occupy. The preppy young guys riding around in boats all seem to be the tall, blonde "Dutch-looking" ones, while those working in lower paying jobs all seem to be immigrants.

I'm guessing that the tension in Gouda all has to do with either some form of police harassment or misconduct (or the perception of it) and/or lack of economic/educational opportunities for immigrant youth. It's the same old story that I have seen again and again in my travels. No matter how bad off people in a country may be (or in this case, well off) there is always a group that is lower on the ladder, and the lower rung on the ladder is often not a good place to be not only because it is more difficult, but also because there are frequently insults dropped down from those above.

Talking briefly to Machiel made me realize how much there is to Amsterdam and the Netherlands that I am not seeing. I had no idea about the tensions in Gouda and if I had, I don't know if I would have gone, or if it would have changed my perception of the place.

Yesterday when Machiel and I were talking and I told him about my bike trip to Edam, he also told me about the town of Vondeldam being a bit strange. He said the people of the village were inbreeding and they were so strange that Edam wanted to be a separate entity, not Vondeldam/Edam like it had been. It was another one of those under the surface observations that you can only get from a local.

I like learning more about a place than just the famous sites, it's history, or shopping districts. I wish I had more opportunities to talk to Dutch people and find out some of the underlying secrets to the things I am seeing. I guess most things are not secrets at all, just things I don't know because I'm not from here, but hearing some of these stories definitely adds a depth to my experience. I'm grateful to have Machiel's perspective, even though it is only one person, it's better than none.

Gouda

 

The weather has gotten a little crazy. Yesterday it was kind of rainy and today it also looked like rain. I decided not to go off on my bike because it seemed that would surely attract the rain. Instead, I decided to go to Gouda, which the Dutch pronounce - Howda.

My original plan was to take the Lonely Planet's suggested walking tour through the Jordan, an older working class neighborhood that is now getting very trendy. From there, I would be very near Central Station. But with my new mosquito net, I slept really well, and since I've been kind of sleep deprived between jetlag and mosquito patrol, I really needed sleep. I didn't get up until after 8 and I need a few hours in the morning just to get up and out (I wake up in front of the computer with a cup of tea).

I didn't want to get to Gouda too late, so I skipped the Jordan and headed straight to Central Station, taking a different street just to see something different.

I bought my ticket and in about 20 minutes, the train arrived and we were off. It took me about 40 minutes to get to Gouda. The ride was nice. A North African looking guy (maybe Moroccan, Egyptian, or something like that) was sitting next to me playing with his MP3 player and a darker skinned woman (from some other African country?) got on with two small girls. They sat in the seats in front of me. The older girl was very loud and had a few screaming fits. Her little sister had not yet started talking, it seemed. The mother engaged them with food and then singing. I enjoyed watching, and listening to them.

I got off in Gouda to find a kind of funky 60's style train station with these very old looking statues (like from the 1600's) - it was a very strange combination of architectural elements, but that is what Gouda ended up being. Old mixed with a very weird mix of modern styles.

The town hall was the big attraction, standing in the middle of a large plaza screaming for attention with a fancy roof, red shutters, a very intricate facade and all kinds of other details. Unfortunately, it was closed to visitors because a couple was getting married (maybe several). I found it interesting that the church was not in this central place, but actually off to the side and kind of hidden behind some buildings. To me the symbolism was clear. I knew who was NOT in charge in Holland, or at least in Gouda (but I assume the rest of the country is the same).

I wandered over to the cathedral, a big gothic cathedral - the biggest in Holland. It is no longer a working church and seemed very dead to me. I'm used to going into churches in Latin America that are thick with smoke and incense with people praying possibly organ music and a feeling of something alive, but here, it was dead, dank, smelled musty and to be honest was not that interesting - especially because I couldn't take photos. I would have enjoyed trying to make some interesting compositions of the stained glass and the interior.

I stopped at the tourist information center and got a map, which wasn't very helpful, so I just wandered around. There are a lot of different ethnicities in Holland, which surprised me a bit. I see large, blonde, gorgeous people riding around on bikes and assume they are Dutch, but when I see an Arab woman with a veil, why do I assume she is not? Anyway, on my different bike rides I have discovered that the more I go out from the old part of the city, the more diverse it gets. Gouda seemed pretty diverse as well. I saw women with veils, middle eastern looking men, some blacks and a little Chinese restaurant/market. I stopped in a Turkish place and got a Turkish "pizza" - some sort of tomato/meat sauce spread on a lavash and after it was heated he put two different kinds of salad, tahini and hot sauce and rolled it up and gave it to me. It was the perfect food to eat and walk and to satisfy the little appetite I had while I continued my quest to find fresh stroopwafels.

Which is the reason I went to Gouda.

I figured if I was going to find a freshly made stroopwafel, it would be in Gouda. I imagined a little cart somewhere with a very Dutch looking man (whatever that means), putting the dough on the grill as you walk up and order one and then cutting the waffel and spreading the hot caramel inside and handing it to you all gooey and warm.

I was heading back towards the station after having enough of Gouda and being disappointed that my stroopwafel search had been futile. I wandered around some little alleys and passed another bakery that sold stroopwafels. I thought I'd go in and see if there were any clues as to where the real thing could be.

Fortunately for me, the woman working there asked if she could help me. Well, that's what I'm guessing she asked. I replied in English. I told her I was looking for a place to buy "fresh" stroopwafels. She pointed to the package on the counter between us and said, "these are fresh". I said, "No, I mean fresh today". She said, "These are fresh today". I finally communicated that I meant freshly made on the spot right in front of you. Surprisingly she directed me to go out and turn right and I would see a place called Hema. She said they make them fresh there.

I was in this odd section of Gouda, of the tourist track, and having that mix of old and new. Old houses lead up to a newish looking shopping district, which reminded me of the "old" suburban downtowns that were built in the 40's and 50's, renovated in the 60's and then abandoned with white flight and made obsolete by malls. There was this big 60's modern orange building that was Hema. Next to it, sure enough, like where you might find a hot dog vendor, or pretzel place, was the stroopwafel stand. Not exactly like I had imagined it, but at least my trip to Gouda had not been in vain.

There was an older woman and a young guy working there. For him, probably an after school job, probably a high school student. They had something called a super stroopwafel for 1 euro. This was part of my lunch, so I went for it.

They were already made and on a tray. The woman scooped one up and wrapped it in checkered paper and handed it to me. The guy was speaking to me in English. She was speaking Dutch. When I was walking away, the guy said, "Have a nice day!" I wondered how it was that they can be so bi-lingual. It just seems effortless, with no self-consciousness, natural.

The stroopwafel was okay. I actually prefer the ones I've been getting from Albert Heijn. They are more delicate. The cookies seem more buttery and the caramel sauce is rich with a hint of cinnamon. This super stroopwafel was big, sugary and neither the cookie nor the syrup had much flavor.

With that, I headed back to the station. Hopped on the train which arrived one minute after I climbed the stairs to the platform, and returned to Amsterdam.

The tourists are kind of blowing around today as it is very windy. They are starting to blend into the background with everything else, like they are a part of the city - there are the bikes, the canals, the coffee shops, the red light district and the tourists.

I have Indonesian Gado Gado for dinner along with the chicken tika masala I got at Albert Heijn yesterday. The supermarket has a good southeast asian selection - Thai, Indonesian, etc., and there is a great little Indonesian takeout place new Nieumarket. I just had the "snack of the day" - an Indonesian kroket. I'm not sure what it was - like a potato croquette with some meat inside? It was good. I guess I'll move on to the 2nd course now, the Gado Gado.

Bicycles

 

Old and New

 

The Town Hall

 

Pretty Canals

 

I found the home of the stroopwafel

 

An Old Street

 

My Lunch - Turkish Pizza

 

Olives

 

A Random Day

I had another hard night sleeping last night. I forget what time I went to bed, but when I did I was exhausted. But then, as usual, around 3:30 a.m., I was wide awake. I think a mosquito woke me up initially, but then I was hot and then I started sweating. It wasn't hot, and I don't know why I was sweating, but it felt to me like I had had a fever and the fever was breaking. I hoped it was nothing related to the hundreds of mosquito bites I've gotten in the past week. Well, maybe not hundreds, but definitely more than 20!

I e-mailed Machiel this morning and asked him if he could suggest a solution to the mosquito problem. His response was very practical - keep the windows closed when the lights are on, or something like that. But then he said, that might not be enough.

As I was on my way out because a cleaning person was coming at 9:45, I ran into Machiel in the stairway. He lives in the apartment below.

I showed him the little bottle of citronella oil and the little device I needed to diffuse it. He was familiar with the little thing and said he thought he had one someone in this apartment. He then said he would go out and look for something, either the thing I needed for the citronella oil or a mosquito net. He said he could get one in the big department store on Dam Square in the bedding section. I thought that was interesting. I wonder if most people have mosquito nets here. There must be a lot of mosquitoes with all of the water.

I wasn't sure where I wanted to ride because the weather was iffy. I decided to just do the same ride I did on Monday, which I knew fairly well - up the Amsteldijk to the windmill and then along a path along a canal that runs to Amsterdam Bos. From there I could hit Vondelpark or Rembrandt Park before getting back onto the city bike paths. It is a good ride through nice scenic places with very little traffic (bike, auto or pedestrian).

It started sprinkling about halfway through my ride. I couldn't believe my luck. On the days I didn't have a bike it was sunny and beautiful. The day I took the longest bike ride I probably will ever take, it was raining, and here again today it looked like it was going to be a repeat of Tuesday's weather. And, I didn't have my rain jacket with me. I stopped under trees and overpasses when the rain got hard, but mostly it was a light sprinkle.

I stopped in Vondelpark near a nice pond and was enjoying the view until I was joined by two Italian tourists. Vondelpark is full of tourists riding rented bikes. You can see them coming. The Dutch ride upright, straight, confidently, fast, and then the tourists come, wobbling on their bikes, usually in pairs or larger groups, usually on bikes of matching colors, usually doing things like riding on the grass instead of on a path.

I sat there a little longer, still enjoying the view even though I had to share it, when I noticed the sky was getting pretty dark and the wind had started whipping up. I decided it was time to stop flirting with the weather and just return home, thinking the cleaner had finished.

I returned to a nice, clean apartment (even though it was fairly clean before) - the sheets were changed, I had a fresh towel, the garbage was gone and there was a load of sheets in the washing machine. It looked like the cleaner wasn't finished.

I read the news online for a bit until I got very sleepy and then took a lovely nap. I must still be suffering from jetlag because it was very hard for me to get up from my nap. I fell into a deep sleep and when I woke up I wanted to just continue sleeping. I knew it was not a good idea because then I wouldn't sleep tonight, so I fought to get up, but it took me a good 10 minutes or more to get myself off of the sofa and up.

I decided to go to Albert Heijn to get some lettuce for a salad and see what else I could pick up for dinner.

As I was leaving, Machiel poked his head out of his apartment and showed me the mosquito net he bought. He said he went to the chemist to look for the little diffuser thing - we just call it "that thing" because neither one of us knows what it is called in English - I don't know if there is a Dutch name. Anyway, he said he found something, but not for the oil I had. I suspect he found what I found the other day when I went to the Albert Cuyp market. It was some plug in bug repellent thing but I didn't know what was inside and imagined it was more toxic than citronella oil.

So he showed me the mosquito net and I said, "I think that will probably be okay", to which he replied, "You think? Oh come on!" We both laughed and he went on to say, "Unless they have little scissors that they can cut their way through." while I was saying, "well, there might still be a way that they can get in, but I think it will be fine". We laughed again and he said he would put it up, as well as "pimp up" my apartment. He had some chairs for the deck and a table for the bedroom. I laughed at his use of "pimp up" - I wonder if he got that from MTV.

I was thinking about the intercultural communication aspects of that exchange - my use of "I think" as a way of softening my opinion, his interpretation of that as being sort of wishy-washy, and his directness in calling me out on my opinion, which he didn't think was strongly assertive enough. I got a chuckle out of it as I was walking over to Albert Heijn.

When I arrived, there was a large group of kids on the steps. They were maybe between 18 - 22 or in that range, maybe college students, maybe on a tour. I couldn't tell if they were local or not. The supermarket wasn't super crowded, but I was already freaked out by my walk over, dodging bikes and cars and weaving around large groups of slowing moving, walking in every direction, groups of tourists. I am really glad I am only here for a few more days because the hordes of tourists would really get to me if I had to stay any longer. They just make it really hard to get anywhere. I think the best way to avoid them is on a bike, but I am still a little freaked out riding my bike in the old part of town where it's more crowded.

I picked up some lettuce, carrots, etc., for salad, got a chicken tika masala dish with rice and contemplated buying a package of apple pancakes, but since I didn't know what to put on them and didn't see syrup or dulce de leche or anything like that, I passed. Good thing. I ended up with plenty of junk, including some really good little rice crackers I found that are kind of nacho cheese flavored. Happy to say I didn't buy more stroopwafels. I still have a package I have been eating one per day from after a binge over the weekend where I had several per day (after discovering the melty goodness they become on a cup of hot beverage).

I'm back in my newly cleaned, pimped out apartment and of course because I am not on my bike it is not raining. Tomorrow I think I am going to take a bike break, unless it is super sunny and clear. The weather says it's supposed to rain, so I don't really know. But I do know my legs are a little sore and I think it might be nice to go somewhere by train. Maybe it' time to go to Gouda and look for fresh stroopwafels....

Random Observations

When you share certain basic cultural understandings, language becomes easier to "figure out". For example I saw a sign with a cat and it said something in Dutch like vismissin - and I knew what the sign said, even though I didn't understand the language. Similarly, when I saw signs on the bike trail that said, "Let op! Drempel's" with a picture of a little hump, and I could see the hump ahead on the trail, I understood what the words meant. Now if I only understood people when they spoke as easily.

Young guys between a certain age - maybe 17-23 or so, no matter where they are from, do interesting things with their hair.

The red light district raises questions for me, in particular, if women were given a choice, if they had other economic opportunities, would they still turn to prostitution?

The most common thing probably said between tourists in Amsterdam is "Where are we?"

The second most common thing tourists probably say to each other is "Watch the bike!"

The seagulls in the morning make incredible sounds. I think it them fighting over the garbage of the bags they've ripped open.

I think it's the girl's turn to sing this week. The guys were going around singing last week. What the puck?

A city can have too many bikes.

Really large groups of tourists really confuse me.

Biking to Edam - a photo essay

After passing through West Amsterdam and some suburbs, I find myself on a bike path heading through the countryside.






Through Durgerdam, along the dyke



Through beautiful countryside







A milking shed.



Yahoo Weather said it was going to be sunny.



Could this really be a bus stop?



Which way now? My calculations say Holysloot.



Uh oh, the end of the trail? What do I do now?





A lady with a ferry rescued me.




My map didn't say anything about riding through a cow pasture.




Bike bridges to cross canals in the fields.



The cows didn't seem to mind me passing through.



Back on the trail.



Where am I? Lots of signage. Some for bikes, some for cars. Some confusing.



Waiting out the rain




Entering Monnickendam





Cheese and clogs seem to go together.



I missed the bike path which was up on the dyke and ended up on the road - amazingly no one beeped at me and told me to get off the road (there was not much traffic anyway)



Some furry critters munching on the dyke



Vondeldam



Passing through Vondeldam before the hoards of tourists arrived.



Entering Edam


At the dam on the river E




A windmill in Edam.



Suddenly I'm back in Vondeldam again, unsure how I missed the center of Edam.




Splurging for lunch in Vondeldam



A passing windmill on the way back.




Passing fields from on top of the dyke.



Back along the dyke, following the coast to Amsterdam.



8 hour later, signs for Amsterdam begin to appear.