So, I was really excited for my trip to Amsterdam. I booked a cheap flight the day after my birthday as a self-gift, and two weeks later I was hopping on the plane from Florence to get there. At security, my phone was at 50% charge. Since the Florence airport has literally zero working electrical outlets, I knew this would prove to be a problem. By the time I landed in Amsterdam, I had next to no battery. I had already mapped it out and knew I had to take Uber to the hostel where I was staying from the airport, and I needed charge on my phone for that. So, after I located an outlet in the Amsterdam airport, which is bigger than the city of Siena itself, I charged my phone for a few minutes and called an Uber. The Uber took me to my hostel and I checked in and charged my phone for a bit in preparation for a night out. It was already about 9:00 PM. After drinking quite a bit with a few other hostel-goers, I decided it was time to head towards the city center, which was unfortunately three miles away. The walk was ok because there were sights to see on the way, but not many. Where I was staying was one of the uglier parts of Amsterdam I have ever seen.
I should preface this by revealing I have been to the Netherlands before. It was when I was ten years old, and I absolutely loved it. Amsterdam had a great feel about it when I was little. A city built over the water with art, canals, beautiful architecture, and friendly, english speaking people. As a traveling ten year old, you can't ask for much more. But this time, since I was alone, and now 22, I wanted to independently immerse myself in this city, and give myself the Dutch experience. Whatever happened that weekend, I had a plan that I was going to just go with the flow and see where it takes me. So when I met a couple from Tennessee at the first bar I went to once I reached the city center, and they asked me to have some rounds of drinks with them, I couldn't say no. So we drank on and got to know each other, and some other members of the lively crowd, and by the time we felt like we had had our fill, we were very hungry. I remember getting some french fries with lots of cheese and toppings at a halal restaurant, and then I lost the couple. So, I was wandering around the Amsterdam city center alone at 3:00AM, thinking that my night is about over, when I realize I was missing my phone! There was nothing I could do about it now I figured. I got a cab home and decided I would figure it out in the morning.
The next day, I checked my bank card statement to identify the name of the halal restaurant I visited the previous night. I figured my phone had to be there. I had no way to navigate myself three miles away to the restaurant besides bringing my laptop with me in my backpack and periodically stopping at cafes with WiFi on the way to check the map and make sure I was on the right course. In order to reach my destination, it took a lot of consulting strangers on the street to pin point exactly which halal restaurant in the center of Amsterdam that I was looking for. As I found out after strolling through much of the city center, there are a lot of them. I was in a bit of a rush at this point because I had tickets to go to MOCO Museum at 1:00 PM sharp, and I was very excited to go there. It was now almost 12:00 so I figured I would have to take a taxi to the museum anyway. But just as I had coincidentally begun talking with a fellow American deep in the streets of central Amsterdam, I found it! The Halal Restaurant from the night before. I spotted it because I remembered its red and gold colored awning from the night before.
I went inside and immediately asked if they found a cell phone last night. Remarkably, there it was, attached to my charger in a drawer next to their cooking station. The man was reluctant to give it to me at first, and even tried to convince me it wasn't my phone. After I dismissed that possibility, he suggested that I should pay him for giving my phone back to me. This was bogus, so I pretended not to understand his broken english. But he insisted, so I simply explained to him that the phone is in my hand now, it is my property, and I am going to leave now. Thank you for the french fries, sir.
My visit to the MOCO Museum was fabulous. It was an oasis of modern art with exhibits that ranged from creative critiques of modern society to the straight up bizarre. A famous graffiti artist by the name of Banksy took up most of the first floor, and he shared it with Daniel Arsham, who I particularly enjoyed. He made sculptures, most of which were built into walls which were as intriguing in concept as they were intricate in design.
After my visit to the museum, I walked around the parks and streets filled with pedestrians close by. There were stands within markets selling art, food, clothing, and other goods surrounding the compound of museums which included MOCO, the Van Gogh Museum, and a few others. The line outside the Van Gogh museum was absolutely massive. As much as I love Van Gogh's work, I couldn't imagine spending two of my precious hours in Amsterdam standing in a line. I wanted to see Van Gogh's work badly, but waiting was not what this trip was for. I decided to skip the museum, and instead I stumbled upon a stand at the market where they were selling replica Van Gogh paintings. They were lovely, and I was in awe of how well-replicated they were. This was my chance to seize part of the Van Gogh experience without waiting in line. I purchase my favorite painting at the stand, and a month later gave it to my dad for Christmas. He loved it.
When I visited Amsterdam in fifth grade, I fell in love with Dutch food. Most people don't know what Dutch food is so I will give a brief description. Seafood, potatoes, cheese, and pastries. I am not crazy about pastries or cheese. Pastries can of course be wonderful, especially the Dutch "stroopwafel," but I am rarely in the mood for sweets that aren't ice cream or gelato. Cheese is great but I can personally eat only a finite amount before I begin to feel sick. However, I consider my fanaticism of seafood and potatoes to be at a connoisseur's level. The dutch are famous for making great french fries with mayonnaise that is almost always homemade. The difference between homemade mayonnaise and the stuff we get out of a jar in America is just staggering. You won't taste anything off about the homemade mayonnaise, just a smooth, vinegary dressing that doesn't clog up your arteries like paper towels in a toilet. No gelatin, no preservatives, just eggs, vinegar, and whatever else they throw in there to season it up. Dutch french fries never disappoint, and it's their dedication to their condiment of choice, mayonnaise, which separates their way of serving fries from the rest of the world.
The next item on the list, seafood, is marked by the Dutch passion for smoking eels and herring. Dutch fisherman have been smoking sea creatures to eat for over 500 years. Herring and eel are most abundant of all in the waters surrounding North Holland. The eel population is now declining as herring continue to thrive. The first time I tried herring, it was actually served raw on a hot dog bun with a sweet, briny pickle and beautiful slightly sour chopped white onions. It was heaven on a bun and I have thought of that sandwich regularly since the first time I tried it nearly twelve years ago. When I got to the food section of the market in Amsterdam, I knew I would find a stand selling it. It didn't take very long as I found the stand within moments. I asked for the raw herring sandwich served the classic way on the hot dog bun with the pickle and chopped white onions. For eleven and a half years, I had been waiting to be reunited with this sandwich and it was indeed worth the wait. This sandwich was every bit as flavorful as the one I had enjoyed on the island of Marken outside Amsterdam in the Summer of 2008. The only problem is, after you eat herring you crave more. So I walked right back up to the stand after finishing to see what other flavors could test my tongue. The stand had smoked herring available as well! Very similar to smoked trout but with a deeper, fishier flavor, I was absolutely in love with this creation. I found myself eating pieces of the skin after I had finished all the meat inside. However, there was one problem; I was still hungry. Well, one more trip up to the herring stand wouldn't hurt, I figured. I asked if they had the herring available cooked any other way. The man running the stand looked down at his deep frying station and said that he could fry fresh herring for me. This was brilliant hospitality and friendliness by the man at the herring stand. He was so pleased that I had taken a liking to his national dish that he was willing to go the extra mile to give me the full experience. Top class from him. The fried herring was beautiful and flakey but still held together well. After trying it, I think fried herring would be perfect for a fish sandwich topped with shredded cabbage and a bit of tartar sauce.
Another crazy night in Amsterdam came and went and I woke up the next morning quite tired, and the day ahead was looking quite gloomy with grey clouds overhead. I had planned on renting a bike and going fifty kilometers round trip to Marken island that day, but the weather looked as though it would not permit such travel. I went back down to the city center to do some sightseeing, but I found myself growing claustrophobic from the crowdedness of the city. The sun finally came out just past mid day, and despite the gusting wind, I decided that the weather was just good enough for my fifty kilometer excursion. I went to a bike shop and got a rental. The man renting me the bike asked where I planned on going, as it was already past two' clock and the bike shop closed at six. I told him I planned on going to Marken and back, and he scoffed. He recommended that I get a two day rental and a bike equipped with a light because he thought I would still be traveling back to Amsterdam late at night. I declined his condescending recommendation. This guy must have had bad experiences in the past with American tourists who wanted to visit Marken because he strongly discouraged me from going. I insisted that I would get to Marken and make it back in time before the bike shop closed, and I would not need a light as it seemed like an unnecessary expense. So, off I rode out of the city of Amsterdam atop the dykes which were being pummeled by gusting winds. I was out on my own traveling across a magical landscape reclaimed from the sea. Dutch innovation was responsible for reclaiming this land, as the prosperous and highly populated Dutch needed to create farmland on their home soil to sustain resources for their population. The Dutch are famous for using windmills to create currents that push water out of areas that they need to be dry for farming. Meanwhile, the dykes stand tall above the seas with bike paths on top, to keep water from getting into the farmland. Biking literally right on top of this engineering phenomenon was like taking a tour through the museum of life. I was reaping the benefits of a true man-made wonder. Beautiful land reclaimed from the sea and repurposed so the Dutch could better sustain themselves. It was indeed a special place, and I felt so alive throughout the bike ride, realizing that like the Dutch, I was being innovative myself by giving myself such a full, immersive experience in the Netherlands.
So I started from the city of Amsterdam, and rode twenty five kilometers to Marken with lowland farms on one side of the dyke from me, and sea on the other side. On the way I saw packs of sheep and waterfowl in large numbers. The quaint villages along the way were marvelous. These were the kind of places where you just can't imagine anything bad happening. I imagined that every day in these villages was peaceful and quiet, where people would go about their day slowly and carefully, managing their individual tasks with low levels of stress and a constant fascination with the beauty of the setting that surrounds them. On my way home, I even peeped intentionally into the houses I passed on my bike to witness Dutch families enjoying their Sunday dinners, tending to their fireplaces, and laughing with friends. Watching this gave me goosebumps, as I felt so happy for these people enjoying the simple things in life.
I rode my bike to Marken planning to have a food pilgrimage of sorts. I was going to visit the same herring stand I did in the Summer of 2008 where I first tried that unforgettable raw herring sandwich. Thankfully, the day before I had one so the disappointment didn't hit me as hard when I got to Marken and the stand was closed. I should have figured. Why would any fish monger want to spend their one day not fishing tending to a stand in forty degree weather with massive winds? It made perfect sense that the stand was closed, but I still took a picture of it, which is in the gallery above. I instead took refuge inside a small pub where I grabbed a Heineken, smoked herring toast, and a local fish soup. The toast and soup were so fresh and tasty that I got a second order of both, which paired beautifully with my Heineken. As the sun set over Marken outside the window of the pub, I decided it was time for me to start the twenty five kilometer ride home. By the time I was on my bike, it was pitch dark outside, and my phone had run out of battery. I would have to find the bike shop within the hour using only instinctual sense direction of direction. I retraced my path, and I made it to the bike shop just fifteen minutes before they closed. The bike rental man was impressed that I had made it back in time. He really thought I would never show up.