Blogabroad
by Mary Pinckney Waters
April 3, 2006 - Amsterdam
The trains in Europe have become a second home of sorts
for many of us. We’ve long-since recognized the different
types of trains in Germany and have now attached certain
moods and memories to each of them. An older train with bench
facing seats, for example, reminds us of home because it
always takes us back to Bamberg.
This week we took an excursion to Amsterdam. I’m still
trying to figure out what was on the wallpaper of the Holland
trains. I think it’s a melting train track with presents
for vehicles that have the country of Holland for appendages,
but other hypotheses remain. I’m pretty sure I’m
not in the right “mindset” to comprehend it,
but maybe you are, so check out the photo.
As we traveled closer to the Netherlands, we came more into
contact with the Dutch language, which for us as English
and German speakers was nothing short of mind-blowing. I’ve
never been into linguistics, but I couldn’t help but
be bewitched by how blatantly in the middle the Dutch language
stands between English and German. A few examples of English-Dutch-German:
- day, dag, tag
- youth, jugd, jugend
(“j” pronounced as “y”)
- thank you,
dank u, danke
The most fascinating part of the Hollanders’ language,
though, was their intonation. Some of them had a more German
intonation, and many of them delivered their dialogue just
as an English speaker, so much so that we often struggled
to distinguish whether English or Dutch was being spoken
in a conversation around us.
Aside from the language, the city of Amsterdam was by far
one of the coolest places I’ve ever been. The buildings
looked stacked up against one another, shoulder to shoulder,
as if any one could have slipped out anytime. They were narrow
and deep, cluttered and colorful, commanding curiosity and
attention. None of them had to do with anything practical
or mundane: no tax offices, copy shops, dry cleaners. The
only businesses I saw were funky, full-of-style stores for
clothes, jewelry, records, interior decorating, and other
such artsy-fartsy-ness.
Kristin, of Greenville, S.C., the other female on this trip,
and I were in absolutely no need of a tax office, though.
We had stumbled upon an amazing store filled with lush, handmade
Bohemian-style jewelry, clothes and furnishings – you
know the kind that Target always tries to pose but can’t
pull off? This store had gorgeous authenticity at Target
prices. Girls, you have to go, assuming you’re in the
area. It’s called Christodoulou & Lamé,
on Rozengracht 42.
Of course, as respectable 20-somethings, we couldn’t
travel to Amsterdam without experiencing its “coffee.” (For
anyone who doesn’t know – I didn’t before
going – marijuana merchants are dubbed coffee shops
and are required by law to post a green-and-white sign labeled
such on their front windows.) We asked our hostel’s
receptionist to point us in the right direction. She directed
us to Leidesplein, a few blocks sprawling with coffee shop
after bar after restaurant and so on. Minutes after arriving,
we were underground in coffee shop called Get Down To It.
The atmosphere was low-key (imagine!) with a bar, bench
seats, pool tables, computers with Internet access and walls
with trippy, fantastical paintings. The menu offered a wide
selection of weed and hash from the Netherlands and abroad,
and the employees were helpful in explaining the different
types and their effects. Here’s my personal tip if
you’re ever in Amsterdam: let a coffee-shop employee
roll at least one joint for you. It’s like watching
an artist at work.
We visited several shops throughout our trip, and it’s
obvious there’s a coffee-shop ambience to fit any smoker’s
taste or mood. Some were three stories, others one room.
Some looked like they bought the entirety of their decorations
from Loose Lucy’s, others plastered and broadcast Bob
Marley all over the place. One shop was apparently even family-oriented,
because a Kentucky Mom, Dad and daughter, 18, sat down
beside us for an afternoon smoke.
Aside from coffee-shop-hopping, we visited the house where
Anne Frank and seven other Jews hid during WWII. I will tell
you now that my descriptions of this experience are going
to fall short.
The museum was very well formatted. It guided you through
the house along a certain route, telling Anne Frank’s
story piece by piece through excerpts of her diary. Artifacts
such as letters, pictures and schoolwork, in addition to
video testimonials from her safe keeper and her father, supplemented
her words. We climbed higher and higher, past the movable
bookcase, until we reached the “Secret Annex.”
I can’t articulate what I felt while in those rooms
in which these eight people had spent literally years of
their lives. We saw pencil lines on a wall next to heights
and dates. We saw Anne Frank’s room, which still had
her photos and magazine cutouts attached in their original
positions on the wall behind a glass barrier. To think how
many times she had scanned those images …
If you visit Amsterdam, please make time between enjoying
the liberal legislation to visit the Anne Frank museum.
Friday morning we checked out of our hostel in time to avoid
an arriving group of 76 high school students staying for
the weekend. In walking toward the station to catch our first
train back toward Germany, we realized we still had a little
bit of marijuana left. I asked Kristin, “Should we
just give it away to some lucky kid or do we want to finish
this off ourselves real quick?”
Appropriately, we spent
our last 10 minutes in Amsterdam in Coffee Shop Double
Reggae on Nieuwendijk Street.
Mary Pinckney Waters welcomes your comments
and feedback: marypwaters@yahoo.com |
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