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There's been enough going on that even though I have easy and regular access to the internet here at Steph's house, there isn't enough nonsocial free time to come up here to her attic room and use it to record all our adventures. Basically, though, if you imagine a movie montage of Andrew, Parker and I biking through staggeringly lovely countryside, lying in shockingly climbable trees over water with sun angling through the willow strands, laughing outside smokeshops in comspolitan Amsterdam, eating at peaceful inner-courtyard green-shaded cafés with Stephanie, waiting in historically beautiful train stations playing the guitar, playing cards and lying on towels with Dutch youth in the midday heat and cooling water of the Zandvoort beach, and sitting rapt around bonfires at hip squatter bars where Australian Gypsy Punk Cabaret Pirate Blues bands play... can you see the montage yet? That's what the past few days have been like here
Day before yesterday we set off with enough water for the day and a landmark-based map of the scenic route to Amsterdam by bike. We were not disappointed by the scenery; though Andrew had not lent me his camera at this point in the trip and was not inclined to take pictures himself, I can tell you there were picturesque farms, bends in the canals with cattails and ducks, windmills, tiny ponies, sheep, goats, and horses enough to satisfy the most stereotypically inclined Dutch landscape painter. It was absolutely gorgeous, and the weather cooperated fit to send me into paroxysms of solar delight.
We didn't actually have any goals in our visit to Amsterdam, merely to wander. So, after the boys got breakfast and coffee at a place on the outskirts, and we got directions to the middle of town from affable Dutch natives, we found ourselves at Centraal station with no idea where to go next. So we just went. It was full of what they call coffeeshops (actually smoke shops), canals, bridges, and general awesomeness. Sometimes we set our bikes at a rack and walked awhile, sometimes we biked. There was one perfectly-aligned fountain with a set of rings of perfectly-designed trees around it that we sat at for quite awhile, just appreciating. The one thing I had to be sure of seeing was Het Vondelpark, which my mom recommended highly from her time in Amsterdam, so after wandering aimlessly we began to wander with a purpose towards the southwest end of town.
We found it, after several accidental detours, and it was indeed worth seeing. It was a lot like the Munich Englisher Garten, but full of Dutch people and roses and the occasional statue or art, and more canals, all of which had these giant, ancient willows drooping over them at the perfect angle to just walk on and sit over the water. I made for the highest easy branch and got a good tree-communing time out of it, sunlight dancing off the water on my closed eyelids, or soccer-playing boys on the grass above it, or determined dog jumping with a splash time after time for a ball someone threw right to the other edge of the water. I could have stayed there much longer; I could have slept the night in that tree, really.
Andrew and Parker got hungry, though, and I was not loath to see more of the park and the city, so we biked lostly around inside the green space until an exit out the heretofore unfindable front gate appeared. Andrew knew enough Dutch history to want to try Indonesian in Amsterdam, so we searched awhile for a place. The one we found was less debilitatingly expensive than some others, and the food (which I sampled upon insistence) was delicious.
We made one more walking expedition to see if we could find the red-light district before the sun went down, but we merely saw pleasant residential sections of town, so we gave up and decided to return some later day. Andrew was perturbed by the lateness of the hour and so we took the less scenic route back, among the freeways. It did get dark enough that we ought to turn on our bikes' headlights, so we finagled with he electricity-generating gadgets on the front wheels until the grinding produced light, which looked a little like magic.
We got back to Stephanie's house fairly late, 11:30 or so. Parker and I were content to sit outside the front door after ringing the doorbell a few times and wait, but Andrew was a vibrating ball of stress and went to the city center to find someone to borrow a phone from to call Steph and see what was up. She'd been watching a movie on the third floor with friends, but they'd been about to go out and check to see if they could get a gig for this Australian band she'd met hitchhiking in Brighton, so we would have been let in soon. All good. We crashed pretty hard, though it wasn't late, so we didn't sleep till the end of time.
For breakfast Stephanie took us to the cafe where she works, which has a terrace situated inside one of the old, expensive, respectable quadrangles of Haarlem. The omelet was ferociously good, the atmosphere was relaxing, green trees and grass and an abundance of cats to swat the little kids accompanying the ubiquitous young mothers that apparently frequent that café... and the day only got better. Steph was going to the beach, so we opted out of spending the day in Amsterdam and went with her instead to Zandvoort aan Zee. The Haarlem train station was apparently in one of the Oceans movies because it's the most beautiful functional train station in Europe; I wouldn't be surprised if that were true. We took the guitar and a bottle of wine and Steph and I were barefoot; it was all exceedingly Bohemian.
The beach was packed in the style of the most popular European beaches, but we met Steph's friends there and started the cycle of charging into the chilly water, acclimating, playing a little, charging out into the benevolent sunlight through the occasionally-naked crowd to our stuff, lying on towels and drinking and playing cards, getting hot, charging back into the water... It was another idyll of an afternoon. I even tried sun-towel-lying in true European fashion, without a shirt. My back was much more evenly sunned, and the relaxation was immense.
In order to get back to the station to meet the aforementioned Australian band and lead them to the place where their gig was going to be, Steph determined we needed a certain train. We hadn't expected the tickets to be checked again, so there was a slight rush getting on, and we determined after the train started moving that we'd left Andrew. He had the guitar, so the wait at the station for him to get there on the next train was full of dancing and ballet technique lessons for Parker instead of guitar strumming, but self-entertaining nonetheless.
Once we found him, we set out to find the band. Their little bus-van, packed full of amazing characters, all with fedoras and travel-worn devil-may-care pirate attributes and wide accents, was just the other side of the station. I didn't learn their band's name until later, but it and their page may give you some idea of their awesomeness: Juke Baritone and the Swamp Dogs.
Steph gave them directions to the gig for their van, and she and her friend and the rest of us walked. It wasn't a long walk, though punctuated by intense Dutch discussion from the vanguard (Steph's been having romantical issues this week, and this particular friend seemed to be involved in one of the webs of trouble). Once we got to the place, which had been described to us as a city beach, we discovered it was a slightly outworn piece of steel-frame building with one half full of a bar with colored lights hung from corrugated plastic and gated in by glass at closing, the other half full of sand, picnic tables, a firepit, and a volleyball net. It was charming, even more so in the dark.
For it did get dark. We stayed as long as the band stayed, and the band was excellent. They reminded me of all the best street musicians I've seen, exuding charisma and nonchalance and and earthy, dirty, tattooed, pierced, villain-mustached, ironically drunken aesthetic. And their drummer is cute. Their music, they proclaim, is Gypsy Punk Cabaret Pirate Blues, and I can't argue with that description.
Parker and Andrew played cards and bought drinks with Steph and her people, and Celina when she arrived, but I was in the quietly amused zone of awesome anticipation and nostalgia, so, with exceptions to talk to the Yavs or Parker, I sat in a chair with my sketchbook or my bottle of water, and concentrated on the band. There was a tagalong who'd been riding with them on the last few days before her flight left back for Australia: her name was B, or Bi, I'm not sure, and she was friendly and admired my hair. She got the band to give me a sticker so I'd remember who they were, and volunteered information about whether they minded video clips being taken of them, and how to find them on Facebook. We also played a game of finger daggers (I won).
There was dancing and drunken merriment around the bonfire. Steph continued to deal obliquely with boy issues, Parker running interference for her (they've made fast friends), and Andrew talked at one friend of Stephanie's all night and she didn't seem to mind. There was a little drama at the end, but I refrained from involving myself, instead watching the music and the musicians. It made me so felinely happy, in old old ways from childhood. In general it was a chill and low-key gig, and I doubt the band made much money but they made several fans, me included. I bet Joodles will love them, too. They seem right up his alley. One more reason for me to go to Australia.
Since we didn't make it to Amsterdam yesterday, and we've been having so much fun, we decided (with encouragement from Steph) to stay another night, and we'll take the ferry tomorrow morning for Harwich to London. Everyone's gone on a quest to the library to print the ferry tickets and make copies of the IAS music I have that Parker didn't print out; then Steph and Andrew are both for the beach again, and Parker will come back to get me for a trip to Amsterdam for souvenirs and other sightseeing. We plan to have dinner with the girls and their squatter-scene friends before Amsterdam again, hopefully with more success in finding actually sights to see. Celina's going to the Parade, which is apparently a traveling music and theater festival that's in Amsterdam at the moment. Sounds like fun.
Day before yesterday we set off with enough water for the day and a landmark-based map of the scenic route to Amsterdam by bike. We were not disappointed by the scenery; though Andrew had not lent me his camera at this point in the trip and was not inclined to take pictures himself, I can tell you there were picturesque farms, bends in the canals with cattails and ducks, windmills, tiny ponies, sheep, goats, and horses enough to satisfy the most stereotypically inclined Dutch landscape painter. It was absolutely gorgeous, and the weather cooperated fit to send me into paroxysms of solar delight.
We didn't actually have any goals in our visit to Amsterdam, merely to wander. So, after the boys got breakfast and coffee at a place on the outskirts, and we got directions to the middle of town from affable Dutch natives, we found ourselves at Centraal station with no idea where to go next. So we just went. It was full of what they call coffeeshops (actually smoke shops), canals, bridges, and general awesomeness. Sometimes we set our bikes at a rack and walked awhile, sometimes we biked. There was one perfectly-aligned fountain with a set of rings of perfectly-designed trees around it that we sat at for quite awhile, just appreciating. The one thing I had to be sure of seeing was Het Vondelpark, which my mom recommended highly from her time in Amsterdam, so after wandering aimlessly we began to wander with a purpose towards the southwest end of town.
We found it, after several accidental detours, and it was indeed worth seeing. It was a lot like the Munich Englisher Garten, but full of Dutch people and roses and the occasional statue or art, and more canals, all of which had these giant, ancient willows drooping over them at the perfect angle to just walk on and sit over the water. I made for the highest easy branch and got a good tree-communing time out of it, sunlight dancing off the water on my closed eyelids, or soccer-playing boys on the grass above it, or determined dog jumping with a splash time after time for a ball someone threw right to the other edge of the water. I could have stayed there much longer; I could have slept the night in that tree, really.
Andrew and Parker got hungry, though, and I was not loath to see more of the park and the city, so we biked lostly around inside the green space until an exit out the heretofore unfindable front gate appeared. Andrew knew enough Dutch history to want to try Indonesian in Amsterdam, so we searched awhile for a place. The one we found was less debilitatingly expensive than some others, and the food (which I sampled upon insistence) was delicious.
We made one more walking expedition to see if we could find the red-light district before the sun went down, but we merely saw pleasant residential sections of town, so we gave up and decided to return some later day. Andrew was perturbed by the lateness of the hour and so we took the less scenic route back, among the freeways. It did get dark enough that we ought to turn on our bikes' headlights, so we finagled with he electricity-generating gadgets on the front wheels until the grinding produced light, which looked a little like magic.
We got back to Stephanie's house fairly late, 11:30 or so. Parker and I were content to sit outside the front door after ringing the doorbell a few times and wait, but Andrew was a vibrating ball of stress and went to the city center to find someone to borrow a phone from to call Steph and see what was up. She'd been watching a movie on the third floor with friends, but they'd been about to go out and check to see if they could get a gig for this Australian band she'd met hitchhiking in Brighton, so we would have been let in soon. All good. We crashed pretty hard, though it wasn't late, so we didn't sleep till the end of time.
For breakfast Stephanie took us to the cafe where she works, which has a terrace situated inside one of the old, expensive, respectable quadrangles of Haarlem. The omelet was ferociously good, the atmosphere was relaxing, green trees and grass and an abundance of cats to swat the little kids accompanying the ubiquitous young mothers that apparently frequent that café... and the day only got better. Steph was going to the beach, so we opted out of spending the day in Amsterdam and went with her instead to Zandvoort aan Zee. The Haarlem train station was apparently in one of the Oceans movies because it's the most beautiful functional train station in Europe; I wouldn't be surprised if that were true. We took the guitar and a bottle of wine and Steph and I were barefoot; it was all exceedingly Bohemian.
The beach was packed in the style of the most popular European beaches, but we met Steph's friends there and started the cycle of charging into the chilly water, acclimating, playing a little, charging out into the benevolent sunlight through the occasionally-naked crowd to our stuff, lying on towels and drinking and playing cards, getting hot, charging back into the water... It was another idyll of an afternoon. I even tried sun-towel-lying in true European fashion, without a shirt. My back was much more evenly sunned, and the relaxation was immense.
In order to get back to the station to meet the aforementioned Australian band and lead them to the place where their gig was going to be, Steph determined we needed a certain train. We hadn't expected the tickets to be checked again, so there was a slight rush getting on, and we determined after the train started moving that we'd left Andrew. He had the guitar, so the wait at the station for him to get there on the next train was full of dancing and ballet technique lessons for Parker instead of guitar strumming, but self-entertaining nonetheless.
Once we found him, we set out to find the band. Their little bus-van, packed full of amazing characters, all with fedoras and travel-worn devil-may-care pirate attributes and wide accents, was just the other side of the station. I didn't learn their band's name until later, but it and their page may give you some idea of their awesomeness: Juke Baritone and the Swamp Dogs.
Steph gave them directions to the gig for their van, and she and her friend and the rest of us walked. It wasn't a long walk, though punctuated by intense Dutch discussion from the vanguard (Steph's been having romantical issues this week, and this particular friend seemed to be involved in one of the webs of trouble). Once we got to the place, which had been described to us as a city beach, we discovered it was a slightly outworn piece of steel-frame building with one half full of a bar with colored lights hung from corrugated plastic and gated in by glass at closing, the other half full of sand, picnic tables, a firepit, and a volleyball net. It was charming, even more so in the dark.
For it did get dark. We stayed as long as the band stayed, and the band was excellent. They reminded me of all the best street musicians I've seen, exuding charisma and nonchalance and and earthy, dirty, tattooed, pierced, villain-mustached, ironically drunken aesthetic. And their drummer is cute. Their music, they proclaim, is Gypsy Punk Cabaret Pirate Blues, and I can't argue with that description.
Parker and Andrew played cards and bought drinks with Steph and her people, and Celina when she arrived, but I was in the quietly amused zone of awesome anticipation and nostalgia, so, with exceptions to talk to the Yavs or Parker, I sat in a chair with my sketchbook or my bottle of water, and concentrated on the band. There was a tagalong who'd been riding with them on the last few days before her flight left back for Australia: her name was B, or Bi, I'm not sure, and she was friendly and admired my hair. She got the band to give me a sticker so I'd remember who they were, and volunteered information about whether they minded video clips being taken of them, and how to find them on Facebook. We also played a game of finger daggers (I won).
There was dancing and drunken merriment around the bonfire. Steph continued to deal obliquely with boy issues, Parker running interference for her (they've made fast friends), and Andrew talked at one friend of Stephanie's all night and she didn't seem to mind. There was a little drama at the end, but I refrained from involving myself, instead watching the music and the musicians. It made me so felinely happy, in old old ways from childhood. In general it was a chill and low-key gig, and I doubt the band made much money but they made several fans, me included. I bet Joodles will love them, too. They seem right up his alley. One more reason for me to go to Australia.
Since we didn't make it to Amsterdam yesterday, and we've been having so much fun, we decided (with encouragement from Steph) to stay another night, and we'll take the ferry tomorrow morning for Harwich to London. Everyone's gone on a quest to the library to print the ferry tickets and make copies of the IAS music I have that Parker didn't print out; then Steph and Andrew are both for the beach again, and Parker will come back to get me for a trip to Amsterdam for souvenirs and other sightseeing. We plan to have dinner with the girls and their squatter-scene friends before Amsterdam again, hopefully with more success in finding actually sights to see. Celina's going to the Parade, which is apparently a traveling music and theater festival that's in Amsterdam at the moment. Sounds like fun.
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