Friday, 1 September 2017 to Thursday, 7 September 2017
It was freezing today; I closed the sliding door behind me to keep some warmth close to my body, hugging that hot coffee mug close to my chest had zero effect. We spent the day coopd up inside the apartment busying ourselves with admin and blogging, with plentiful breaks in-between for reading and such, a thoroughly relaxing day.

A man peered over the ledge of our balcony – we’re on the sixth floor – and asked if he could come in. “What the…!” was my first reaction but then remembered he was the guy tasked with cleaning the building. The apartment building we’re living in is a steel structure with steel cladding on the outside and this need to be cleaned off every few years; and this was that year.

The cleaning guy has this neat mini crane which he uses to hoist himself around and up and down the building, physically washing down the building as he goes along. Hard work, but he seemed to be enjoying it. He asked permission to board our terrace, then checked his watch, it was lunch, and made an arrangement to come back after lunch. It must have been a good lunch, he never did come back.

We were planning on going out for supper but at 18:00 Adri crept upstairs from where she was busy in her study and announced “It’s too darn cold to go out, I’m starting supper”. We had a wonderful supper of pork chops, freshly grilled veggies and oven baked chips. The latter was not oven baked to keep our cholesterol in check, we had no cooking oil.

Saturday morning we got onto Tram 10, this time going south and around the centre of Amsterdam and got off on the western side at the Rozengracht stop. We ambled in an easterly direction down Rozengracht, our destination Dam Square, from where Adri wanted us to pick up a walking route she found in one of the travel books.

We had a lovely stroll ducking into quaint little shops here and there, also into the Raw Materials – The Home Store where we lost ourselves in all the cool stuff they have there.

 

 

 

 

 

Adri needed coffee, I needed a beer, and fortuitously we found Café Kalkhoven. A lovely young bubbly lass served us, every time she delivered something to a table she would do a round robin with a “Are you still happy…!”, and we were. While vigorously cleaning our table the candle went flying like a launched Kim Jong Un missile. Jokingly I quipped “Wasn’t me!” to which she responded “Don’t worry, it’s always me, and even if it wasn’t me, it would still be me!” What a super friendly and efficient gal she was, rarely have I seen such honestly friendly and efficient service.

Adri had the koffie verkeerd (Wrong coffee – made with equal parts coffee and milk) and I had a Heineken draft even though they have an extensive choice of beers… I was just plain thirsty. We were not hungry but the table next door’s gehaktbal (meatball) sandwich looked terrific. We mulled over going back there for an early evening supper but they stop serving food at 16:00, thereafter it’s only drinks. My kinda place!

From there we walked to Dam Square where we picked up Adri’s route. We walked up and down, left and right, across many canals and finally ended up back at the Westerkerk where you can also find the Homo Monument next to the canal. Adri was still not hungry but had to try the Dutch specialty of pickled herring at a street food stall in front of the church. A bread roll was cut in half, slices of pickles were laid out in disarray on the bottom piece, two generous fillets of herring came to rest upon those after which raw onion cubes were scattered on top. Man, was that good! I know, I was offered two bites… only two.

 

 

We then walked past the Anne Frank House where the queue was around the corner, disappearing past the Westerkerk across the way, there was no way we were gonna entertain that queue. We then entered a cheese shop called the Cheese Museum, and to its credit, it actually did have a tiny museum downstairs. But, it was mostly a cheese shop with a whole bunch of cheeses for sale and to taste. And we did.

And then a mobile party in full swing passed us, no kidding. This contraption is a pub on wheels powered by the patrons’ pedalling power. Each patron has their very own set up pedals, sitting across the bar counter from each other, chatting and drinking and I suspect more drinking. The barman is also the driver and thus the only sober one on the vehicle, quite a cool concept for sightseeing. We would see a number of these throughout the day but this was not the only mode of transport for parties. We also saw many parties floating by in canal boats being put to good use.

 

 

We were in the Jordaan district and walked up and down beautiful little streets with names such as Egelantiersgracht, Nieuwe Leliestraat, Tuinstraat and Anjeliersstraat, a truly memorable experience. Around another few corners and we came upon another canal and a brass band entertaining the crowd across the canal. We sat down for a while to listen and people watch and rest our sore feet.

 

 

 

 

It was early evening when we slowly started making our way back to the central station and thus home. We looked through the menus of a few restaurants on our way and finally decided to have a burger – have not had one in a long while – at an Argentine type restaurant. How could we go wrong… how wrong did we go!

The patty was not all bad but rather tasteless and that 1mm slice of dour supposed cheese added zero positive taste to it. And this was all that was contained within this bun from last week’s fresh batch. No sauce, no nothing else. There was some form of a dried out salad on the plate which I coaxed onto the bun, drizzled some of Adri’s barbecue sauce from her spareribs oton it, and the burger was still barely edible. Just terrible! Adri’s spareribs were not bad though.

After we left the restaurant we found a zillion others in close proximity, if we had just held out a few more minutes we would have been spoilt for choice. I’m really starting to get peeved with restaurants; most of them seem to serve sub-standard food, probably catering mostly to the tourists whom they know won’t return in any case, so they just don’t give a damn. I was ready to renounce all restaurants but then I remembered our wonderful experience at Café Kalkhoven earlier today… Yes I know, they’re not all bad, but there are so many that are bad.

Sunday we took a walk across the bridge to Java island, visited a clothing shop, a furniture shop and an art shop where there was an exhibition by a Moroccan artist, pretty cool stuff. Java island is not large and before we knew it we had reached the eastern end of it, and then backtracked along the Ertshaven canal. There we found some lovely barge boats and a few cool restaurants. It was a bit warmer now and many people were out enjoying the sun, making full use of it before it could disappear.

We stopped off at the Jumbo Supermarket for a few things and left with a bulging bag. The bulges were mostly fashioned by the sweet stuff like the pack of Mars bars, a punnet of Haribo jelly sweets, a carton of vanilla custard and a boeren koek (farmer’s cake). We couldn’t wait to get home to spill the vanilla custard over thick slices of that boeren koek which looks, and not surprisingly, tasted much like a Madeira cake, exactly what we craved. Man, was that good or what!

I needed something to be shipped from SA to Amsterdam so on Monday we went to check out DHL’s so-called Service Point 2km away, in an area called the Indische Buurt (Indian Neighbourhood). The DHL Service Point turned out to be a cell repair shop, doubling up as a satellite DHL shop, I did not feel comfortable with the setup. We subsequently elected to use the proper DHL Shipping Spot, which is a DHL owned and branded facility in the heart of Amsterdam. Be as it may, we took a walk around the area and what a lovely little area this turned out to be. There are plenty of little supermarkets and restaurants catering for their Indian and Turkish customers and otherwise, it’s definitely worth a visit.

 

On the way home we had to once again cross a large intersection. Now as I’ve said before, pedestrians in Amsterdam seem to have zero rights, or at least that’s how I have experienced it thus far. Eyes in the back of your head would be beneficial but would not suffice; you preferably need them on the side of your head poking out from the vicinity of your temples. But let me explain…

Many of the larger streets are made up of the following configuration. First you have a thin strip of pedestrian walkway which is followed by a wider lane for bicycles and scooters going in both directions. Then you get a road for vehicles moving from left to right, then two sets of tram tracks going in opposite directions. Thereafter you get a road with vehicles moving from your right to left followed by a bicycle lane, again with bicycles and scooters going in both directions. And then you get the final narrow strip of pedestrian lane which you feel like hugging when you reach it without a scratch. Such a crossing feels pretty much like you’re playing Frogger, the stakes are just higher; you’re playing with your life.
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As you can imagine, it’s not easy. When I just arrived in Amsterdam trying to cross such a setup, I would start off by looking haphazardly in all directions at once, and when I was sufficiently nerve wracked, I would surge forward and hope for the best. This was not useful; I would get myself killed before the day was done.

I then changed my approach by staring straight across the street, moving my eyes in their sockets from left to right to left to right… just like a chameleon. This seemed to work until I nearly walked into the path of both a bicycle and a tram. I realized I was not a chameleon so I changed my approach once again by turning my head left and right and left and right and… Now it seems like I’m watching tennis, a five setter on each crossing. I don’t think I’m gonna get this thing right before I get knocked down. But I’ll get up again…

No sooner had we gotten home when an ear piercing screeching alarm went off; it carried on for a number of minutes, it carried on for too long, it sounded like an air raid was imminent. I saw no Fokkers or Messerschmitt darkening the skies so I decided that all was well… at least I was hoping so. I watched as the cyclists and pedestrians seem to take no notice of this audio invasion, so I followed their lead, I hoped I would not regret it later.

In hindsight I should probably not have checked the weather app today. It told a horror story that we could expect rain for the next nine days, or that’s at least how far I could look into its future. Man, this was not what I have wanted to see… but we’ll see.

After all the bluster of the day I calmed my nerves with slow sips from my Leffe Blonde while my fingers fumbled over the keys. More often than not I would move my stare from the screen to the IJhaven canal below and over to Java Island, watching boats as they slowly made their way past. Suddenly all felt so peaceful.

It was later in the day that I got word that a letter of mine was received at its intended destination. I was stunned, this letter was posted in Lyon on Friday morning and it made it across France to Brittany over the weekend. Wow, vive La Poste!! My experience with La Poste, France’s postal service, has been nothing short of miraculous; one can truly depend on delivery within a few days. Let me not start on SA’s postal service… I have many war stories to tell, “pathetic” would be a too glowing a term to describe them by. Vive La Poste!

Tuesday we declined the offer of a ride on Tram 26 to the central station we needed to be somewhere this side of it, and we needed the exercise. As I walked into Mediamarkt I was rather impressed with their vast array of headphones and you may remember that I might be in the market for one of the Bluetooth variety.

I also moseyed over to the cell phones of which they had a fair selection, but not great. I had a few questions that needed answers but the two ladies on duty were both hogged by the same hoggers for the entire 40 minutes that I wandered around the shop. Do these people have no shame? Adri dawdled around the next floor up and on her return we left as disgruntled would-be customers. We’ll try again another day, if there’s time.

As we were walking further along Oosterdokskade towards town we came upon a lovely long wooden bench next to the canal which we couldn’t resist. We backtracked 40 metres to the Albert Heijn Supermarket, Adri got a blackcurrant, raspberry and beetroot juice, I got a 500ml Bavaria Pils. We made ourselves dreadfully comfortable on that bench, watching the boats go by and the Chinese lady from the Chinese restaurant feed the swans.

 

 

 

Adri read that Haarlemmerstraat is an up and coming area which lies just north of the Jordaan District which we visited over the weekend, so that’s where we were heading. To get there we entered Nieuwendijkstraat and whiffs of marijuana entered our aura more often than not. There are a number of “coffee shops” that sell a variety of marijuana products that you can enjoy right there. Not sure how much coffee they sell.

Interspersed amongst these “coffee shops” and restaurants are “head shops” or “smart shops” that sell a variety of marijuana products for home entertainment as well as herbal “drugs”. We walked into one of these smart shops and they do indeed have a wide range of the so-called herbal “drugs”, probably only good for a mood lifting effect. Obviously there are no hard rugs sold anywhere, legally in any case.

This smart shop also sold magic truffles, as opposed to magic mushrooms, as the latter is now illegal to sell in the Netherlands. Mushrooms grow above the ground and the truffles grow under the ground, so technically not the same thing and thus technically not illegal. They say that the truffle kind has exactly the same hallucinogenic effect as the mushroom. And would you believe, they even have magic mushroom growing kits for the do-it-yourselfer!

After our smart shop experience we continued on with Nieuwendijk that runs right into Haarlemmerstraat. We walked up and down Haarlemmer, a lovely little street with many shops and restaurant and what not. Unfortunately it was already a bit late and some of the shops had already closed… pity.

There are many tourists in Amsterdam and Nieuwendijk and Haarlemmerstraat were no different, it was lined with said commodity. We found it quite strange though that there are an inordinate number of American tourists here, rarely have I heard so much American spoken in one city. Maybe they’re here to indulge in the “coffee shops” to try and fade Trump from their collective memories.

 

 

 

 

You will remember that I had the worst burger ever on Saturday night and had to prove to myself that a burger can be more. Tonight was the night of reckoning. We bough freshly patted, good quality, hamburger patties from Jumbo and whatever else was required to produce a memorable burger.

It was just past 20:00 when I assembled my giant, or giants. A hamburger bun was sliced in half, a light butter skin then covered the buns’ insides to keep any moist from ingredients penetrating and making it soggy. Fresh slices of tomato, fresh onions rings and ample slices of gherkin were placed on the bottom bun after which the patty was carefully laid on top of that bed. A blotch of strong mustard was then smeared over that beef, covering it like a blanket. A fried egg followed after which a number of slices of strong Zaanlander extra belegen (aged for 7-8 months) cheese were added to its top. And then, finally, the top bun was place neatly overhead, completing the party.

Now this was a burger of note! Why can restaurants not make proper honest and decent burgers like this, it really is not that hard. And just to make sure I was not mistaken, I assembled another one just like it and finished that in no time, together with the few chips that were left on the side plate.

Today BBC reported that that the PR firm Bell Pottinger from London was expelled from the UK public relations trade body for inciting racial hatred in South Africa. This incitement was done on behalf and at the behest of their misfit and most controversial client, the Gupta family. This of course enabled that deplorable family to perform, in cahoots with Zuma, a state capture of a magnitude never seen before. Although the imminent demise of Bell Pottinger is welcome news, it is cold comfort for South Africa. The damage has been done and will continue to be stitched into the seams of SA’s history for years to come. And all this due to one man’s greed… Zuma’s greed. South Africa could have been so much more… so much more without Zuma.

With the weather report not having much good news for the week ahead we woke up on Wednesday to a dark and dreary morning but soon the sun made itself visible through the clouds. Was not sure how long this was going to last.

Selma, the housekeeper that comes in every two weeks, arrived just after 09:00. Selma is from Brazil, now living in Zandvoort just west of Amsterdam where she and her husband run a bed and breakfast. What a lovely lady.

Because of the “early” start in order to not interfere with Selma’s cleaning, we decided to go for a breakfast. And, seeing that we were in the Netherlands, we had to at least once try an uitshmijter which we saw offered in a little restaurant down the road. This was an exercise futility; they were still closed at this ungodly hour.

We crossed the bridge to Java Island and found the tiny but festive looking Bakkerij Neeltje where we started off with a set of cappuccinos. For the past week I have been craving a decent meat pie, a plain old meat pie, which is not readily available over here it seems, and definitely not as abundant as in SA. Neeltje was about to change my luck, sort of. There were no meat pies as such but they had a yummy sausage roll which I promptly ordered as my breakfast. It was scrumptious.

Adri had the ossenworst with a kappertjie (caper) dressing on a buttered bun of her choice. Ossenworst is a raw beef sausage from Amsterdam which was originally made of ox meat. This specialty has its origins in the seventeenth century, when oxen were imported large-scale from Denmark and Germany. Present-day Amsterdam Ossenworst is made with lean beef, and the sausage is now often neither smoked nor aged.

The food was good, the coffee was good, the wifi was good, we spent a good few hours here watching and listening to the comings and the goings of people into and out of the bakery. It was great to be able to understand conversations around you. Not that we eavesdrop, but just being able to follow general conversation makes life here rather comfortable.

After our late breakfast we walked around and it was mid afternoon when we arrived back at the apartment, just as Selma was leaving. We spent the rest of the day hunkered indoors, the weather had turned against us and a soft drizzle started up.

Thursday morning the building’s cleaning guy was on the terrace next door, peered around the wall and requested permission to board our terrace for a scrubbing. It was later in the day when he said his goodbyes and made an arrangement to finish up on Monday morning. Explaining why he will not be finishing up tomorrow, it being Friday, he said “Tomorrow… it rains”.

 

 

 

 

Late afternoon we took Tram 10 into town and alighted at Leidseplein. We passed by here a few days ago and the view from the tram of the Leidseplein and surrounds looked rather special, the reason we now wanted to explore his area. We found an excess of theatres around here, this was surely a place we would visit regularly should we have stayed here longer. We entered the stadsschouwburg (city theatre) and we gathered that a premiere of some sorts was happening. A crowd was milling about, champagne glass in hand, which got topped up whenever a glass seemed to threaten emptiness. It looked very inviting, but we weren’t invited.

The inside of the theatre it is pretty impressive, we really would have liked to attend a performance here, but… I had to drag Adri out of there before she could get us kicked out; she was keen to join the festivities with one of those champagne glasses in hand.

Back on Leidseplein we found a guy playing his guitar with his friend banging away on a cajón, or a beatbox drum. From afar it sounded like a full-on band so you can imagine our surprise to find only two musicians, without electrical instruments, no microphone, making this amount of noise. This guy sure had an amazingly strong voice, and was rather talented as well.

There is an amazing array of restaurants in this area, obviously also catering to the theatre going crowd. This sure was a festive area and we would have loved to spend more time there but we had places to go so we ambled on, slowly making our way towards Dam Square.

And why Dam Square, you might ask “You’ve been there twice already!” Ah, but this time we had a different reason, Adri wanted to go to the famous/infamous red light district. Promise, it was not my idea, but one cannot come to Amsterdam and not go there.

 

 

From Dam Square we walked north up Warmoesstraat, yes, spelt correctly, walked around the Oude Church area, up Oudezijds Voorburgwal, down Zeedijk, then back and down the other side of the canal of Oudezijds Voorburgwal, ducking into little alleyways here and there, quite the experience.

Now this district is famous for its prostitutes who sit in cubicles that look like small shop widows, and, just like shops, they put their wares on display, fully dressed in the smallest of bikinis of course. There are a multitude such widows along a number of little streets, but mostly tonight they were either empty or closed or otherwise occupied. We saw only two… only two red light ladies on display.

The area around the red light district is rather pleasant with a multitude of restaurants and pubs interspersed amongst the ladies of the night, live sex shows and shops selling sex toys and whatnot. But, in spite of all the apparent sleaze, the area is well groomed, well maintained and particularly tourist friendly.

 

 

 

 

 

Many tour groups make the rounds; many individual tourists wander around, just like us. Here you see tourists from all walks of life, from respectable businessmen to lousy loud and brash louts, but everyone seems to keeps to themselves. Maybe it is the bouncers that keep the louts at bay. These burly bouncers can be found at the live sex shows and looks intimidating but rather miserable and I was wondering how they stomach working in this sex industry, day in and day out. Does this sex thing not become stale? Were they working there because they like the sex connection or do they just need the job? My questions went unanswered… I was not going to ask, I daren’t ask.

We left the area around 20:30, so I am not sure whether this pleasant environment changes the later it gets, but I suspect not. We took Tram 26 home from the central station and a few drops of rain greeted us as we hurried towards the apartment… and then it stopped. The rain was just toying with us but we knew the heavy rain was on its way; apparently it would be raining all day tomorrow, as per our weather app, and our building cleaning guy.

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