Baby went to Amsterdam (and Utrecht)

The things you cannot photograph.

Some things you really cannot plan, no matter how flexible your itenerary, and this idea is no more perfectly embodied in any segment of my trip than in Holland. My agenda was meager, and therefore, I figured, flexible enough. I had planned to stay in Utrecht for two nights, and take the 20 minute train ride to Amsterdam in the mornings. There I planned to see the Secret Annex and the Van Gogh Museum. I had my agenda and figured I wouldn't get into my host's hair very much. Needless to say, neither of these things occured. Even less so did I expect to get along so famously with my host Tobias, go to Belgian bars, come home on a death wish of a bicycle ride and the following evening pull an all-nighter in a 70s punk bar off the Red Light District. But these things happen I suppose.

My only regret is that I didn't take more pictures, but all things considered, half the things that happened in Amsterdam could not be photographed, and therefore...will stay in Amsterdam. I could not photograph, for one thing, the smell of the curry dinner Tobias was in the midst of preparing when I arrived. Much less the taste of spice paired with the sweetness of coconut milk and the savouriness of fresh peppers, the oaky dryness of the accompanying wine. I must find out where he got the recipe.

After dinner, some wine, and a little shisha Tobias took me out around Utrecht, explaining some of the town's charms (such as Miffy the Bunny from the children's books) before popping into a Belgian bar that boasted an impressive selection of beer. After much French wine and Polish vodka in Paris (Julien was obsessed w/the latter) and Belgian beer in Brugge, I didn't know how much more alcohol I could take. But by Beer Number Two, I was in the middle of a fascinating conversation with Tobias about travel and books. Somehow, we both discovered a shared love of The Beach. And as he began to cite specific pages that he had liked, I knew exactly which paragraphs he was talking about. This book, after, was/is my travel bible. I couldn't help myself and burst, "THAT BOOK IS IN MY SUITCASE RIGHT NOW!!"

Over the next few hours, Tobias and I were joined by a guy he had met at work once and his girlfriend, who were at the same bar by chance. Roeland and Ana talked with us, and we got along so well they offered to show me Amsterdam the next day just like that. Soon after, we were joined by Tobias' girlfriend. When it was finally time to go home for the night, we realised it was a bit slow going since Tobias' girlfriend had a bike. Tobias did what occured naturally. He hopped on the bike himself, commanded her to hop on the handle bar and me on the back.

I gaped at him, and wondered how a girl's bike would support not just one but two girls and a giant, beardy Dutch man. "Oh no! Oh no."

Like a scene from any given comedy, not a minute later all three of us were cruising down a hill at god-knows-how-many kilometers per hour, screaming. Perhaps I was the only one screaming. In fact, it is quite probably. As I held on to Tobias' midsection with fear, I yelled, "IF YOU KILL ME I WILL WRITE YOU A VERY BAD COUCHSURFING REFERENCE!!" If you had a camera with you, and a knack for good timing you still could not have recorded more than a blur whizzing past you. Thankfully, Holland's culture of bicycling got us home safe and sound.

The next was comparatively calm, as I met up with Ana and Roeland at the bus station, and they swept me off to Amsterdam. There I saw everything but the Anne Frank House and the Van Gogh museum. But ultimately, I think I fared better that way. I ended up seeing Amsterdam as the people that live there do. When I decided to travel, I decided to stay with locals, because I was spending so little time in each place. I figured that staying with the natives would give me a better taste at how these people see the world.

Turns out it was a very good decision. Had I done otherwise, I could have seen the museums like anyone else, but not the vintage shops with overpriced teacups and other hipster kitsch that amused Ana. Nor the cafe where Roeland used to go with his father when he was small. Not the lifesize statue of David and Goliath that he remembers from his childhood. Little places and things that touch other people.

Tobias joined us in the evening to meet up with some of his friends, who had us over for dinner and then went out to some bars. The first bar of the night was fairly normal. It was a novelty that it was mostly outdoors and that I had to guzzle hot Irish coffees to stay warm, but normal enough. The last bar of the night, however, ... well. Somewhere just off the Red Light District was a punk bar that Ana suggested and we all went to. And nowhere else have I felt more out of place and so comfortable at the same time.

Surrounded by very pushy Sid Vicious wannabes of all ages smoking joints and playing pool, I put myself in the middle of Tobias and his circle of manly friends to keep from getting knocked over. Whereas outside this ring of 6 to 8 Dutch men I felt out of place due to my lack of a mohawk, a joint, and a leather jacket, inside I realised how short I was in comparison. In Spain, I stuck out like a sore thumb because of my blonde hair, and in Amsterdam I got lost in crowds for bieng easily a foot shorter than any of these fun, fine men. As enormous as these men were in size, they were bigger in spirit as I found them to be some of the most open and easy to relate to folk I had ever met. We talked about politics, music, and of course, touched on cultural differences between Holland and...all the places I had ever lived.

Naturally, we spent the whole night in that bar. We left at closing and had to run to the station to make the last train home. We barely made it, but 40 minutes later we made it back to Utrecht. Again, home in one piece. Barely, but safe. Tobias and I had our last chat in the kitchen over a post-drinking breakfast of grilled cheese. At this time it was 6:30 and I had a train to Amsterdam in an hour, where I had to catch a plane to Copenhagen. I said my final goodbye to Tobias, we hugged and said we hoped our paths would cross someday soon.

My suitcase was packed, so I had nothing to do before walking to the train station (literally) next door. So I sat down and opened my copy of The Beach to kill time. Now remember how I said in my first spring break post that--upon packing the book--I didn't know I'd soon say goodbye to my beloved copy? Well, this is that time. As I homed in on one of the last chapters, I looked at the clock and saw it was time to go. With Tobias sleeping upstairs, I left the book on the kitchen table with a note and quietly left.

I can't help but show a little gratitude to someone if they open up so much of their lives to me. And I was lost for ideas in Amsterdam. But I thought that maybe he could get something out of the book I had gotten every time I had read it. Besides which, since I planned to catch up with my best friend in Copenhagen, I wouldn't have time for reading. So I left my book, and within an hour, I left Amsterdam.

I nodded off at the airport terminal waiting for my plane to Copenhagen. I've learned a valuable lesson that punk bars are probably the worst way to pull an all-nighter. But there could be worse near-death experience than I had in Amsterdam, be they break the sound barrier on a bicycle, raise my beer constitution to new heights, or lose my bible. In exchange I think I gained a lot more, cliched as that sounds, even if I can't record the sight or smell but only hope to write it down and remember.