Amsterdam- Day one

Amsterdam to Buda Pest- A journey through Europe

Friday, June 9th, Amherst, New York

       We were up early this morning, anticipating a long day. Breakfast at a local bagel shop started us off. We had already spent days packing, deciding which weather report to listen to and how much in Euros we had to take a long. It seems involved, but things work out better with proper planning. I had some trepidations about the walking tours that would accompany the long boat ride across Europe. An auto-immune disease had curtailed my ability to walk very far, at any one time. But, I remembered the advice from one of Mary’s older sisters. Trish said “When you have a problem, throw money at it.” It was good advice. We obtained a small fortune in Euros and planned to call a cab an Uber, if walking became too difficult. It was good advice and we used it to great effect. Thanks, Trish.

       An airport cab delivered us to Buffalo International at 11:00 A.M. We were scheduled to fly out to Philadelphia at 1P.M. and then on to Amsterdam, Netherlands, later in the day. Buffalo’s airport is compact and user friendly. We breezed through the TSA checkpoints and found our gate. We were early, so we fire up the Kindles and waited for our departure time.

       The two-hour flight to Philadelphia was uneventful. We deplaned and entered into the controlled madness that is Philadelphia’s airport. Swarms of vacationers, business people and who knows whom ambled about the busy hallways. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry and walked very fast. We sought refuge in “John Dugan’s Pub.” It was sro. Mr. John Dewar’s helped pass the three hour wait for our flight to Amsterdam.

        At 6:30 P.M, we off lifted from Philladelphia, and headed north and eastward for Amsterdam, the Netherlands. Drifting through space at 40,000 feet in altitude and ensconced a thin metal tube is somewhat disconcerting. Fortunately, Mr. Dewar’s helped ease the passage. Some six hours later, about 1 A.M in New York. we drifted into Schiphol airport in Amsterdam. On the descending glide path to the airport, we could see a virtual forest of the metal windmills, scattered across the near shore of the North Sea. We were to find that all of the Europeans are way ahead of us in the use of alternate forms of energy.

        Dutch customs was perfunctory. We collected our bags and looked about for signs saying “taxi.” I have a decent command of German, but the native Dutch was a mystery to me. Fortunately, most of the Dutch speak better English than we do. A series of WTF’s led us through the right passageways and down escalators out unto the busy plaza in from of the airport. It was a sea of travelers. The guide books tell you that it easier and cheaper  to take a bus or train to your central city destination. Forget that!  Groggy from lack of sleep and mildly irritable, we hailed a cab and in my best German, asked that he take us to the Hotel Aalder in the Museum District. Like most of the cabbies here, he was of middle eastern origin. His command of both English and German was sketchy. Fortunately, we had the hotel information printed and he was able to use his GPS to find the small hotel. As always, the ride in to a strange city is interesting. Buildings, churches and businesses all were named in Dutch. It might have well been Martian. A thirty-minute ride brought us to the small boutique hotel, The Aadler sits a block over from the Van Gogh Museum. We had secured this fine Inn for a modest 260 Euros a night, a bargain in pricey Amsterdam.

          The small hotel was more of an Inn than a hotel. A very cheerful clerk at the desk welcomed us and assigned us room # 19 on the first floor. We had to remember that in Europe the first floor is actually the second. The bonus was that the occupants from the previous night had already checked out. She said that if we could wait an hour, we could check in. Is the Pope Catholic? We settled into a small bar area and enjoyed some pretty decent cappuccino, for 10 euros. The bar is an “honesty bar.” Whatever you used, you signed in the log for and they billed your room. Bless the Dutch for their decency. We were to find that all of the Dutch that we encountered were both honest, decent and a pleasure to deal with.

        We settled in and opened the windows wide. It was to be in the mid-eighties all week and we didn’t know the room had air conditioning. It wasn’t until the third day, when the maid closed the drapes and placed the air conditioning controls in the center of the bed, that we realized that the room had A/.C   DUH!!!

         The fabled “Reichsmuseum” was only about one-half mile from our hotel.  We scored tickets for 11:45 A.M. You have to buy your tickets online. Fortunately for us, the Vermeer exhibit had close s a few weeks before. The Museum had been sold  out for months.

          The walk over was of interest. Sets of train tracks mingled with the car lanes and bicycle lanes. EVERYONE in Amsterdam rides their bikes everywhere. Estimates of 1 million bikes ride across the city streets. This is in a city of one million people. As we were to find out, the trains and the cars might stop for you, the bikes stopped for no one. We learned to look left, then right, then run like hell across the street to avoid the bikes. For some reason I had a picture of Margaret Hamilton riding across the screen in the movie “The Wizard of Oz,” as she cackled and pedaled, hell-bent for someplace or other.

               A good-sized park area led us to the museum complex. The Van Gogh Museum complex was just off one side of the park area. There were also a “Diamond Museum” a “Modern Art Museum” and a few smaller ones right in the immediate area, thus the name “Museum District.” The pedestrian path through the park was lined with small tent areas for beer, burgers, bratwurst, coffee and ice cream. It was Saturday morning and everyone was out and about enjoying the beautiful weather.

              Approaching the Reichsmuseum is an experience. It is huge in presence. Two wings string off off a central edifice that is four stories high. Parks surrounded it. A main street led through the center of the complex. When you entered the museum, your ticket was scanned by a hand-held computer. No money ever exchanged hands. We then descended into a marble courtyard, enclose by a glass ceiling, high above. Students, tourists and people from all over mingled about the courtyard, sat in the first-floor coffee shop or browsed the gift store.

             The galleries on the several floor were adorned with grand murals and portraits of the \wealthy, painted by the Dutch Masters. Most are  of the dark and brooding style then in vogue. It was the style of the day and not much to my liking. Three portraits of the little corporal, Napoleon, and a few reclining nudes were the exceptions to the rule.

            On the top floor we entered a grand gallery that was chock ablock with people. Three of Vermeer’s “milk maid” series drew  admirers in like bees to honey. At the far end of the gallery, like the central altar of a grand cathedral, inside a glass enclosed tabernacle, stands a sixty foot by 40-foot grand mural of Dutch Cavaliers in full military regalia, riding horses and on patrol. It is the Rembrandt’s famous “Night Watch” painting. Everyone stood ,staring up at the grand mural and in awe of the visage presented. I wonder how anyone could capture in paint, a scene on such a grand scale. I can see it now in my mind’s eye and marvel at the master’s ability to portray such a complex subject matter so artfully. We had been in the museum for almost three hours ,wandering. The “museum glaze” was over taking us. It happens everywhere, even at the Louvre and the New York Metropolitan Musuem. The mind and the eye suddenly say “Abbastanza” (I have had enough) “Let’s get the heck out of here.”

          Outside the museum, minstrels were playing for tips, amid students and tourists walking everywhere. The nearby canal had boat rises going all day along the many canals. The market area was sro with people, drinking beer and coffee, so we walked along a nearby street. Mary spotted a café that she had read bout in a guide book. “The Burger Room” is unique. Newly remodeled and featuring painted characters and scenes from the “Wizard of Oz,” it is an elegant stop. I enjoyed the “all day breakfast burger,” a combination of scrambled eggs, salmon and vegetables on great bread. It was wonderful. Mary had a traditional burger and we shared some fries. A large bottle of “der Spruddle vasser” (sparkling water. )On a hot day like this, it was wonderful. We enjoyed our repast. The tab was a reasonable 50 Euros. (one euro= $1.12 U.S.)

         We walked through the Park again, scoping out the area. We stumbled upon a small grocery store, that sits under a park hill. They sold wine there. We picked up two bottles of Cote De Rhone and, foot sore and weary, headed back to the hotel Aalder. The sun shines until ten P.M. here, so we had no real sense of what time of the day it was. We only knew that we were as tired as old logs in a swamp. We walked back to the Aadler, settled in with a glass of Cote De Rhone and wrote up my notes. The large television had all of its channels in the Dutch language, so watching T.V was out. On future days, we were treated to several episodes of "Pawn Stars," one of my favorites. The language was in English:)We fired up our kindles and read until the sand man claimed us. It had been a long and interesting and eventful first day in Amsterdam.

                                             -30-

                                     (1,717 words) 

                                  Joseph Xavier Martin