Andy is a walker, and always likes to start with a stroll around
whatever city we are in. We happily trot
along because we agree and it orients us a bit and while all of us love Funcles
Andy and Laurent, certain members of our party will follow them to the ends of
the earth. Our walk also reminds us that
we are in Northern Europe – it is cool, windy, and then it rains and even hails
briefly.
And, it introduces us to bicycles.
A word about this bicycle business.
Everyone rides bikes here, it is like China that way. But there are two fundamental differences
from the US. First, yes, it really is
that flat here. Except for the bridges
over the canals (of which there are many, and they do go up and down at a short
but surprisingly steep pitch), it is easy-peasy riding. So the bikes are not our lightweight,
gear-enhanced sprinters, but rather these great big monster workhorses with no
gears, comfy seats (sometimes up to four, or they have a giant bucket in the
front to tote around kids, pets, tourists, groceries), and pedal brakes – no
hand brakes. Everyone has a bell and the
bikes are almost uniformly black and a bit beat-up. There is no pretension about bike riding
here.
The other thing is that this is a culture that not only respects
cyclists, but protects them and assumes their presence in great numbers. So there are bike lanes on every street and
bike lights at every intersection. The
cyclist rules in these lanes, so woe to you, American pedestrian, if you step
in without looking. You will be dinged
at by a fietsbel (that is Dutch for bicycle bell) as someone hurtles by and you
will throw yourself back to the comparative safety of the pedestrian sidewalk,
just narrowly avoiding bodily harm.
Unlike the UK, where one is exhorted to MIND THE GAP and LOOK LEFT
because the traffic is coming from the opposite direction that you are used to,
here in the Netherlands you are expected to figure it out on your own. It is taking some getting used to but we
expect that by the end of the week, we will get the hang of it.
Streets are really more sidewalk than street because here is how it
goes: sidewalk, bike lane, bike and car
parking lane, actual street of one or two lanes, then more parking, another
bike lane, and another sidewalk. You can tell what the priority is here. And gosh, the air sure is clear for a
city. KT says that they basically do
everything they can to get you to NOT drive a car. It seems to be working.
You see everything being carried on a bike: we saw one with a whole family of three
pedaling out to Keukenhof, another women toting a mannequin torso, and dogs and
children and babies and groceries and plants and luggage and more people, all
piled on. And not a single one – NOT A
SINGLE ONE – wearing tech gear not to mention a helmet. Great coats, yes. Attractive scarves, yes. High heels, yes. Helmets, no.
Because there are no handbrakes (well, there are, but plenty don’t
have them), your hands are free to: eat,
text, smoke, hold an umbrella, tow another bike, hold hands with the person
biking next to you, etc.
Finally, everyone appears tall and fit, but not in that aggressive
American, fetishization-of-working-out kind of fit. It is more of a
I-live-my-life-moving-around-and-stop-once-in-a-while-for-a-drink-with-a-friend
kind of fit. This city is SO SANE.
But back to our adventures. This
being Easter weekend, bakeries in particular have enticing window displays
featuring rabbits and chickens and delicious-looking cakes. But we are drawn
inexorably to the first FEBO we see.
FEBO is a Dutch institution, revered perhaps as something like White
Castle might be in the US – a beloved fast food icon that dishes out the
ultimate late-night drunk food, or hangover cure. Whatever you use copious amounts of fat and
salt to take care of, FEBO has it. There
is a counter where you can order food but why would you do that when you can
pop 1.80 euro into a slot, open a little door and pull out a piping hot Kalfsveelskroket
which is approximately four inches of deep fried meat-y (veal, so they say) gravy
and is shockingly satisfying. Perhaps
your taste runs more to a Vitaaltje which involves groentje (vegetables) or a
Kaassoufle which is like a salty, cheesy bechamel sauce wrapped in pastry,
fried, and served up hot. You may think
this sounds disgusting but I am here to tell you that it is not, and it is not
a stretch to imagine when this might be the most delicious thing you ever eat. We need FEBO in Harvard Square, or
Harvardplein as we will now call it.
Izzy opts instead for a waffle with chocolate hazelnut sauce next
door, while others avail themselves of the copious samples offered at SAY
CHEESE TO LIFE! a few blocks away.
Being Easter weekend, some things are closed, including the US
Consulate which we walk by, and which has all of its rolladen shutters closed
down tight. Maybe they are away for the
weekend, or maybe they are just embarrassed.
We walk and walk and walk. We
stop to listen to quintet at the Rijksmuseum playing a quite creditable Bach
organ concerto on a violin, a tuba, two accordions and the world’s largest
balalaika. We see pirates, we eat cheese, and we have some frustrating moments
figuring out how to get to Keukenhof, our goal for the afternoon.
So
Keukenhof. It is kind of the Disneyworld
of Amsterdam, wildly artificial because this stuff doesn’t grow in nature, but
actually beautiful and packed with tourists from all over the world even on this
cold and windy and kind of rainy day before Easter, totally worth seeing. KT has said, you know that tulips are a big
thing here, right? If you didn’t, you do
now. Perfect beds of technicolor blooms of
the bulbous variety (think also daffodils and hyacinths) unfold as you wander
through this large, lightly-wooded garden.
This is more flower power than you have ever seen in your life, and even
the most jaded among us can’t help but enjoy it.[1] There are conveniently placed giant cafes in
front of which are conveniently placed giant clogs that some of us must pose
in. And some art, and some ponds and the
attendant waterfowl, and of course a windmill into which you can climb and see
the strategically placed tulip fields right next door which obviously aren’t
being grown for any other reason than to provide photo ops. Still, the colors are breathtaking and that
really trumps the artificiality of it, and despite the slight hassle to get
here and the hip flexor stiffness we will all have tomorrow after so much
walking today, we are all glad we came.[2]
Home late so no rest for the weary but off to Tempoe Doeloe for rijstaffel
which turns out to be super tasty and fun even if it does take two and a half
hours.
[1]
That would be Bill.
[2]
Keukenhof was also the site of an act of petty larceny by several members of
our party. When you buy a hot chocolate
at the café, it is served in a charming yellow mug that says Chocomel on it,
which is presumably the hot chocolate brand of Holland. The mug is much coveted
by Bill, so discussion ensues: could we buy the mug? Could we just take the mug? Andy queries the staff: no one buys the
mugs. Peter looks in the garbage: people
throw away the mugs! Laurent points out
to the gal clearing tables: people are throwing
away the mugs. She shrugs. Over my express objection – think of the
terrible example being set for our youngest companions – the adorbs mug somehow
ends up in my bag.
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