Amsterdam Coffeeshops: More Than Your Average Starbucks

         Thank God I bought an umbrella upon moving to France. Well, to Europe for that matter. It rains here. A lot. So, as I sit snug in my bed with a hot cup of tea, staring at the rain beating against my windows, I figure it’s as good a time as any to tell you about the past couple of days I spent in Amsterdam, where, inevitably, it also rained the entire time.

"we sell more than you think" : understatement
of the year - this airport sells everything imaginable

            Last Wednesday Jen and I embarked on our little journey to the land of windmills and wooden shoes. Everything went smoothly on the way over – something which is incredibly unusual for my travels – the flight was smooth, we got free cupcakes, and landed on time. (For those of you wondering about the cupcakes, it’s Easyjet’s 15^th birthday, so they give out free cupcakes on their flights….book fast, you might still get one!) Per usual, we arrived at the airport starving. So, we headed off in pursuit of the nearest grocery store, because traveling on a budget means not eating out at restaurants…or so I attempted to maintain for the first day. Turns out, Amsterdam airport is the most amazing airport of all time. Not only was there a grocery store inside, along with a store for every clothing brand imaginable, and every fast food restaurant, the grocery store was amazing! It had all types of American products – including Duncan Hines brownie mix, icing, and all other types of goodies. Note: my willpower is growing. If you came to my apartment, you would notice that I did not buy the box of brownie mix (mostly because I was too poor, but hey). So what did we decide to eat? Baguette and brie. Yes, upon arrival in the Netherlands, I ate what I would normally eat in France. Adventurous, eh? However, it was indeed the cheapest thing in the store.

Amsterdam at night

            After the grocery store bonanza, we hopped a train to Amsterdam Centraal, the train station in center city (as you could have guessed). And you know what, Amsterdam? I’m surprised at you. I expected a lot more English on the signs. Not that having English everywhere is imperative – I am totally a fan of learning other languages (as you know), but we got so turned around trying to find a train into the city! We bought a slow-speed train ticket but accidentally got on a high-speed one because we couldn’t tell which was coming in where…oops. When we finally did get to the station, I whipped out my handy Blackberry (where I had stored the directions to our hostel), and we proceeded to attempt to find Hotel Mevlana. Major fail. We exited to the train station into a very sketchy looking area, but thought we would press forward until we saw some signs. We meandered alongside the harbor until I eventually saw something that had a bit of writing on it. Stepping towards the sign from the pedestrian sidewalk almost got me killed. Note: Amsterdam is a bike- and motorcycle-friendly city. Not so much human-friendly. Watch out! They don’t stop. After my brush with death, a nice young man decided to come over and help us (seeing as we looked incredibly lost). He told us that we had gone out the wrong exit of the train station (surprise, surprise), but that he would gladly show us the way. He also mentioned that getting run over by a bike or motorcycle was bound to “be the theme of my trip.” Ha, little did he know. I learned my lesson: the big ones don’t stop.

            Out the other side of the station and directed down the right path, we reached our hostel in less than 10 minutes. And this is why I love being a girl. No matter where you are, some nice man comes to help you when you’re lost.

'Dam Dutch Stairs

            Amsterdam is absolutely beautiful by night. The canals reflect the millions of city lights in a way that makes them dance on the water. All of the tiny side streets already have lights strung up for Christmas, so when you pass by, it’s like a small bit of merriment being thrown out into the night. The buildings are beautiful, especially those from the Golden Age (17^th century). I really do love this city. I could definitely see myself living here (and perhaps trying to learn a little Dutch, but let’s be honest, it’s not the prettiest language in the world). We arrived at the hostel, checked in, and went up to our room. Or shall I say, struggled up to our room. I wish I had taken a picture of the staircase. Or ladder, really. Climbing up to the third floor of this hostel was like scaling a vertical rock face with a few places to hold on. In fact, this is what ALL Dutch stairs are like. And I found out why. Back in the day, when all of these buildings were constructed (i.e. 15^th century or so), the plots that were sold were incredibly narrow, so as many people as possible could have a space along the canal. As a result, the houses were built very tall, narrow, and deep. To compensate for the squished space they had width-wise, the Dutch decided to make their stairs tiny as well (and practically insurmountable). I have christened them the ‘Dam Dutch Stairs. (Catch the pun on ‘Dam? Teehee, I’m so clever.) After our Himalayan climb up the staircase, we reached our room on the 3^rd floor. It was a room with 3 sets of bunk beds, obviously for six people, but none of the others were in the room when we got there. Luckily, we had the room to ourselves to unpack (into our lockers), get our beds settled, change, and get ready to go out.     

Red Light District

         First stop of the evening? You guessed it. The Red Light District. You can’t go to Amsterdam and not see the Red Light District at night. It’s quite something. And I must admit, I was unprepared. We walked down a small little street between two of the canals, and ended up under a row of red lights. I am seriously such an idiot, that I thought to myself, hm, that’s interesting, what are those red lights doing there? (I never thought the name came from the actual use of red lights. Well, newsflash: it does) We continued walking and were caught like deer in headlights staring at window after window of scantily-clad women (basically not clad, if you will) selling themselves! For some of you who have been to Amsterdam, perhaps you weren’t so caught off guard by this. Perhaps you knew what the whole Red Light District thing was about. Well, I did not. I naively thought there would be some type of sign, some type of warning, saying, “Red Light District this way, if you’re a prude, walk the other way.” But there wasn’t. And so, I found myself face-to-face with “Body-to-Body Sex Massage”, absolutely mortified and horrified because I could not tear my eyes away. Now, let me be honest. I may not always be the most street-smart person in the world. In fact, I’m much more book-smart than I am street-smart, and I think my siblings would be the first people in the world to confirm that. So, where most people would look, politely avert their eyes, and keep walking, I stopped and stared. Tsk tsk to me. I don’t think the girls were too happy.

            Another thing I was unprepared for? Men actually soliciting these women. And you want to know something sick? Most of the accents I heard, of these men trolling the streets, were American. I passed by one guy who practically skipped on up to a door, and when she opened, said, “Hi! How much?” I kept moving before I heard the answer.

            Eventually we made it through the labyrinth of red lights and seedy window displays onto the Oudezijds Voorburgwal, a canal on the far side of the Red Light District. What’s there, you ask? Well I’ll tell you. The Bulldog. The first coffeeshop (they spell it as one word there) in all of Amsterdam. And no, I didn’t go just to get a cappuccino. As some of you may know, I detest coffee. I’m a tea-drinker myself. But that’s beside the point. Since it’s legal and all to smoke marijuana in coffeeshops in Amsterdam, I don’t find that I am violating any code of conduct by telling you that I went to the Bulldog to smoke. Everyone goes to Amsterdam to smoke. And no, I am not going to sit here and describe how it feels to smoke, because I’m going to guess that most of you have, at least once in your life, in fact, smoked. So now that we are all on the same page, I’ll go on.

The Bulldog

The whole coffeeshop thing is quite interesting. You can bring in your own weed, sit at a table and smoke, as long as you order something. And since they are technically coffee shops, you won’t find any alcohol being served. Just your basic coffee, tea, water, juice (and the juice is fresh squeezed right in front of you, by the way). Most coffeeshops also have a menu. It tells you what kinds of hash and marajuana they have, all the different ways you can get it (pre-rolled joints, loose, etc), and of course, the prices. It really wasn’t actually too expensive at all. You’d think with all the tourists coming in to smoke that the prices would be incredibly high, right? But not really. It’s actually very reasonable. So Jen and I picked out the White Witch, which had come recommended by a friend, grabbed a booth, and proceeded to spend the greater part of the evening watching ski videos and the nature channel at the Bulldog.

Around 11:30pm, we started to get hungry. Now as I’ve mentioned before, I am not a fast food eater. At home, I never grace the doorstep of a McDonalds or Burger King unless it is to get a diet coke (my weakness). But where did we decide to go in our white witch haze? None other than McDonalds. And it was goooooood. Hit the spot. I can’t even explain to you how much traffic those McDonalds get in Amsterdam…all that legalized smoking sure must boost the sales of every food shop in the city. After McDonalds we decided to call it a night. We gallivanted in the rain back to the hostel, scaled the stairs, and entered our room…only to find some giant Italian man asleep in my bed.

            Oh hostels. I feel like every seasoned (and budget) traveler should spend at least a few nights in a hostel just to have the experience. And getting a single or a double room does not count. I’m talking dorm-style, put your stuff in a locker, share a tiny space with a lot of other people you don’t know, hostel-dwelling. There’s nothing like feeling like your every move might wake someone else, or brushing your teeth in the hall so you don’t disturb the others, or getting dressed in the dark and putting your clothes on backwards because you can’t see what you’re doing (you didn’t want to turn the lights on, everyone else was sleeping). I had some hostel experiences on Semester at Sea, that is for sure. And anyone who has read that blog knows that I have slept in some very interesting places. So this one was no sweat, except for the man in my bed. The rest of the people in the room were awake, and as luck would have it, not one of them knew who this guy was in my bed. As we were talking, he happened to wake up, catch a bit of what were saying, and said, “This is yours?”, pointing to the bed. “Haha, yeah,” I replied. He moved to get up and go to the other bed (which had clean sheets, pillow and duvet), and that’s where I stopped him. “No, no, you stay there. I’ll take the other one. It’s no problem at all,” I said. I was not about to sleep in a bed or use a pillow that he had just been sleeping on. Gross. But here is what I do not understand. The beds are clearly marked in hostels, people. It’s not like a guessing game where you have to figure out which one is yours. Each bed has a number. This number corresponds to the number on the locker to which you have the key. Clever, clever Italians.

Anne Frank

            The next morning, we were up bright and early to meet Jen’s friend Jessica, who was arriving from Lyon. She is Jen’s friend from back home in LA, and is also a teaching assistant over here. After Jen met her at the station, we congregated at the hostel, got ready for the day, and headed out to the Anne Frank house. I was very excited to see this. Almost every American child has read The Diary of Anne Frank. We have all studied World War II, and we know what an incredible human tragedy it was. When we are asked to recall what we remember about the war, it is inevitably Nazis, concentration camps, the Holocaust, persecution of Jews, etc. Well this brings it all to life. We stood in line for a few minutes before purchasing our tickets and proceeding into the house.

            I am sure that many of you know the story of Anne Frank. But for those who don’t, or who forget (like I had), here is a small recap. The Frank family was a Jewish family living in Germany before the start of WWII. When Hitler came to power in 1933, they knew they were in danger, and decided to move to Amsterdam. In 1940, the Nazis occupied the Netherlands, and the Franks decided to go into hiding in the very house where they had been living on the Prinsengracht (Princes’ Canal). They were successful in hiding from the Nazis until June 1944, when someone betrayed them to the Germans, and they were discovered. All of them, including the 4 others who were in hiding with them, were sent to concentration camps. 7 out of the 8 died in the concentration camps. Otto Frank, Anne’s father, was the only one to survive. Anne died a month before the liberation. Her journal was discovered by 2 of the women who worked with her father (in the same house – the back was where the family hid, the front was the office). It had been left behind during the raid. They kept it until Otto Frank returned to Amsterdam. When it was clear that Anne was not coming back, he read the diary his daughter had kept all through their years in hiding, and decided to publish it so the world would know her story. It is now published all over the world in over 70 languages. To this day, the authorities have never been able to find out who it was that betrayed the Frank family to the Nazis.

            When you enter the bottom of the front part of the house, there are quotes adorning the walls. They are all from Anne’s journal. Throughout the house, in all the rooms, quotes from her journal are on the walls to guide you through your journey into her past. The first quote you read when you enter the museum is this, “One day this terrible war will be over. The time will come when we’ll be people again and not just Jews! We can never be just Dutch, or just English, or whatever, we will always be Jews as well. But then, we’ll want to be.” This bottom part of the house was part of the warehouse for Otto Frank’s two companies, Opekta and Pectacon (one sold a jelling agent, the other seasonings for meats). The men working in the warehouse had no idea about the people hiding upstairs. In one of the display cases in this area, there is paraphernalia that attests to the persecution of Jews during this time. There is even an authentic, yellow star patch made of cloth, which Jews had to wear to denote the fact that they were Jewish.

            After the warehouse area, we climbed another set of Dam Dutch Stairs, into the area that held the offices of the company. The people that worked for Otto Frank, none of them Jewish, helped bring food and supplies to those in hiding. In 1941, when Jews could no longer own businesses, Otto registered his companies under the names of Victor Kugler, Jo Kleiman and Jan Gies. We moved from the office area down the hall, up another staircase, and into the annex. It was here that the Frank family, along with Fritz Pfeffer and the Van Pels family, was in hiding. When the families were arrested, everything was moved out of the so-called “Secret Annex”. When the house was turned into a museum, Otto Frank wanted it to remain this way, but had small scale models made of what the rooms looked like during the time they were in hiding. We went through the moveable bookcase that hid the door to the annex from view. We saw the pictures Anne had taped to her wallpaper in an effort to decorate her otherwise bleak room. We saw the board games and bicycle owned by little Peter van Pels. The most disturbing part for me was the pencil marks written on the wall that tracked how much Margot (Anne’s sister) and Anne had grown during the time they were in hiding. In our old cottage in northern Michigan, we also had a doorframe where my mom kept track of how much the four of us had grown each summer. Seeing those markings on the wall, and remembering my own family’s similar tradition, was really moving.

            In the attic of the front part of the house, we encountered photos of the concentration camps, the stories of how each person died, and a video in which a friend of Anne Frank’s recalls the last time she saw her. In the next room, there was a video of Otto Frank playing. He was discussing his daughter. On one of the walls there was a life-size photo of him when he returned to the empty Secret Annex after the war. It is unbelievably and incredibly sad. In the very last part of the exhibit, you get to see the actual diary Anne wrote in while she was in hiding. On the wall are some of the sheets of paper she used to make additions and edits to her novel, which was to be called The Secret Annex.

Sara's Pancake House!

            All in all, the Anne Frank house was everything that I expected it to be – deeply sad, moving, incomprehensible, gut wrenching, and memorable. It is true that this is one story out of many, but it is a story that gives light to the plight of the Jews during World War II.

            After the house, we walked just a little down the canal to have lunch at a restaurant called The Pancake Bakery. Now I was unaware of this, but apparently the Dutch are famous for their pancakes. Living in France, I wasn’t sure if they could live up to the deliciousness of the crêpe, but they did. They were great. Thicker than a crêpe but thinner than a normal pancake, they were both savory and sweet, melted in your mouth – especially with some of what they come with on top. Jessica ordered the Autumn Special, which had cinnamon ice cream, poached pears, whipped cream, pieces of chocolate and a touch of nutmeg. Jen and I ordered a caprese pancake, but I must admit, I think they are more suited to sweet toppings than savory…keep that in mind.

Dutch pancakes

            We finished our meal, and headed back out into the cold and rain to find a nearby coffeeshop. Our misson? Eat a space cake before going to the Van Gogh Museum. We had heard from some Amsterdam veterans that this was the only way to see this museum. Walking down the canal, a huge gust of wind came along and broke both Jessica and Jen’s umbrellas! From then on, the 3 of us careened down the streets at warp speed to find a warm, dry coffeeshop as soon as possible. As luck would have it, most of the coffeeshops were on the complete other side of town. By the time we arrived at City Hall Coffeeshop, we were soaked through the bone. We ordered 3 space cakes and some hot tea. Space cakes in Amsterdam come in all shapes, colors, and sizes. One of the ones I had while there was shaped like a small chocolate cupcake, the other, like a piece of pound cake that had been dipped in pink and green food coloring. Nonetheless, the purpose of the space cake is to, in fact, “take you into outer space”. As with all foods that contain marijuana, it takes about 30-45 minutes for you to digest the weed within the cake. So we chilled, had our tea, ate the cake, and around 4pm, made our way towards the Van Gogh museum.

Space cake

            Ah, the Van Gogh museum. For an art history major, and especially someone who adores Impressionism, Post-Impressionism, Pointillism, etc, this museum is like Christmas. After having eaten a space cake, it’s like Christmas times ten. The museum is set up to take you through Van Gogh’s development as a painter by time period. You start off in the Netherlands, 1880-1885, then move to Paris for 1886-88, then to Arles (south of France) for 1888-9, then Saint-Rémy for 1889-90, then Auvers-sur-Oise for 1890. Since he was only actively painting during these 10 years, the body of work that Van Gogh produced is astounding. It is from 1886 onwards that you can really see Van Gogh develop into the artist we know him as today. He switched to the bright colors often used by the Impressionists, and experimented with techniques used by the Post-Impressionists, like pointillism. Tracking the artists’ life through the museum is a clever way to hold the exhibit on the permanent collection. It is easy, even for the untrained eye, to see his development, and his later use of amazing colors and techniques. I was pretty much in awe walking through the museum.

Van Gogh's Sunflowers

            The museum closed at 6pm and we were literally amongst the last to be shoved out the door. It took us a while to get home, since we couldn’t figure out the tram system and got severely lost (contrary to what some concierges may tell you, you cannot buy all your tram tickets on the tram…Thanks for the free ride, Amsterdam!). When we eventually got back to our street, we hopped off at the grocery, had another delicious dinner of…yes, bread and cheese, and went up to the room to rest for a bit before going out. This was 8:30pm. We awoke “to go out” at 11:00am Friday morning. Oops.

            Getting ready in a tiny room full of people you don’t know, who are still sleeping, and trying not to wake them up, is quite a delicate matter. Reminds me of how we used to change in the girls’ locker room after swimming in PE…very secretly. However, like I say, it is a delicate art, and one that I have deemed practically impossible (hence the advent of earplugs. I am certain whoever invented earplugs had stayed in a hostel more than once). Nevertheless, we scrambled around the tiny room on Friday morning, attempting to get up and out and not wake the strangers. One of things everyone had told us before coming to Amsterdam, was that the best way to see the city was on a canal tour. We had been hoping to avoid giant tourist traps of that kind, but since even some Amsterdammers, as I found out they are called, told us we should do the tour, we decided to hop on the bandwagon. We went for a little “wake and bake” at the Bulldog beforehand, and decided to eat another space cake before the tour. Now, I must tell you, overall, I was not too impressed with Amsterdam’s space cakes. Yes, the first one aided my visit to the Van Gogh museum, but I did not at all feel like I was “in outer space”. The second one was barely worth it at all. Come on now Amsterdam, step up your game. But, the Bulldog is home to one of my favorite signs, “Smoking pot leads to…uh…I forget.”

art exhibit in the Oude Kerk

We spent the good part of the morning watching more ski videos at the Bulldog, and then made our way towards the canal cruise docks. On the way, we stopped at Oude Kerk, the oldest Gothic monument in Amsterdam. We decided to go inside the church and check it out for a few minutes. Little did we know, that what awaited us on the inside was no church at all. It was the weirdest thing! They had converted this old 13^th century church into an art gallery! I had never seen anything like it before in my life. Some of the installations inside were even mocking the Catholic Church. It was a very interesting juxtaposition between new, modern art, and the old, 13^th century Gothic interior and windows.

Old Golden Age warehouses converted to
apartments along a canal

            We left the church and continued our walk towards the docks. We stopped at a “Chipper”, or a French fry shop, to taste yet another Dutch delicacy – fries with very weird sauces on them. Jessica got peanut sauce, Jen got spicy sauce, and I stuck with the old standby vinegar. Boring yes, but the others were somewhat overwhelming! When we finally got to the docks, we boarded the 4pm canal cruise tour. It took us around the Amsterdam harbor, through both the east and west locks, and through almost all of the canals that meander through the city. As we began, the guide (who spoke first in Dutch, then German, then English) explained that Amsterdam became a city in 1306. It was the most important European harbor city during the 17^th century, or Dutch Golden Age. Passing through all of the canals, we got a great look at the beautiful old houses that line either side of each canal. They are all incredibly tall, narrow, and very deep. They all have tall windows that extend almost floor-to-ceiling on every floor. They are beautiful and very elegant. Many of them are in fact old warehouses that have been converted into modern apartments. I wouldn’t mind living in one…minus the stairs. Our guide explained that each canal in Amsterdam has a different character, the Prinsengracht is where all the old warehouses are, the Brouwersgracht is where all the breweries were, etc. In all, there are over 2,500 houseboats along the sides of Amsterdam’s many canals. Another staggering figure was the number of bikes in the city. There are over 550,000 bicycles in Amsterdam. Next to the train station, there is even a bike hotel that holds over 2,000 bikes, where people can store their bikes while at work. There’s no real way to communicate how many bikes there are decorating the city. I can’t imagine finding a bike parking spot during rush hour in the morning. It would be practically impossible! Nearly every inch of wall, bridge, and lamppost space is taken by 9am!

Bikes, bikes, bikes

            Another very strange thing about Amsterdam is the number of Argentinean and Mexican restaurants. There is simply a plethora. So, after the cruise, we decided to go get Bavarian beer at a Mexican restaurant. This one of the reasons I love to travel. Finding those idiosyncratic little hole-in-the-wall places that are a conglomeration of multiple cultural influences. Hence the German beer at the Mexican restaurant in the Dutch city.

I feel like the thing about Amsterdam is that the nightlife isn’t too thriving because everyone is holed up somewhere in a coffeeshop all the time. After long days of smoking and chilling, no one really has to desire to go out and party (at least I didn’t), so the nights are much more relaxed. On Friday, I went to bed around midnight, and woke up ready for a little more sightseeing early Saturday morning.

waffles!

            However, I have a bone to pick with Amsterdam. Why are all of your museums SO expensive? It’s ludicrous! I really wanted to go to the National Museum, also known as the Rijksmuseum, where all the Vermeer and Rembrandt paintings are on exhibit. However, it is 20 bucks a pop any time you decide to do anything in that city! Van Gogh Museum, 20 bucks. Canal cruise, 20 bucks. Anne Frank House, only $15, but you get the drift. It’s hard to be a tourist on a budget in this city, sheesh! Anywho, because of our incredibly reduced budgets, we unfortunately did not get to see the Rijksmuseum. I guess we will just have to go back! Instead, we woke up Saturday morning, went for waffles (another Dutch specialty) and freshly made smoothies at a small shop across the street from our hostel. We took a big walking tour all over the city, explored the vibrant Chinatown, and all visited all the hippie markets with their incense burning, reggae playing, and hemp products on display.

Just your casual giant wooden shoe,
no big deal.

            Amsterdam truly is an amazing city. I cannot wait til spring when I can go back, see the Rijksmuseum, and experience the tulips in bloom. Perhaps I’ll even see a windmill...
           Finally, I am starting a new addition to my blogs. I am adding a section for each city I visit called my "Would Be Traveler". For each place I have been so far, I have always thought about one person in particular who I would have loved to have on the journey with me. For Ireland, it was my mom, because I know how much she enjoys exploring our family's heritage and where we come from. And for Amsterdam? The person I would have loved most to have with me? My grandmother, Dossie. For those of you who know her, this is a no-brainer. I don't have to explain my reasoning to you. For those of you don't, well, let me put it this way: she is probably the coolest, most hilarious and most awesome person I know. She keeps you on your toes, always says the unexpected, and never ceases to make me laugh. If I could smoke with anyone in the world, it would definitely be her! Must put plans to make this happen in the works...

And so, the nomadic traveler is now at home in France for at least a week before setting off on my next journey. Since I haven’t spent more than 3 consecutive nights in one place in over 6 weeks, I thought a new experience would be staying put for a while! And so I will be in rural Alsace until Thanksgiving weekend, when I jet off to London for a UVA reunion. But don’t worry – I still have plenty to write about and many stories to tell from school and life in France…

A bientôt!