Ah Amsterdam, known for its laissez-faire attitude towards social rules, legalized marijuana and prostitution, bawdy nightlife and easy-going attitude....none of which I experienced.
I landed in the Netherlands late on the afternoon of my birthday, June 9. After encountering several blond airport employees who wanted nothing to do with me, I finally found my way out of the labyrinth that is Schiphol and began my adventure.
First stop: tourist information. She also wanted nothing to do with me. The wealth of information and suggestions for a hip, young world traveler who is not afraid of new experiences was not forthcoming. When I asked what she suggested I do in the evening, she shrugged, helplessly. A 22-year-old Dutch girl who can't think what's fun to do after dark? Okay. Not what I expected of you, Amsterdam.
So I hopped a bus for Museumplein and the Van Gogh museum. Hint: if you don't buy your bus pass before you board, they don't really want to bother with you and you can end up riding public transit the entire day for free!
At Museumplein I found lots of stoned people wallowing around on the grass, punctuated by hoards of students trying to cram themselves inside the letters of "i amsterdam." I proceeded to my snobby cultural activity. The Van Gogh collection was lovely and impressive, although they seemed intent on acting as though "Starry Night" simply did not exist in his oeuvre. Probably bitter the Americans have it. Ate cheese and currants at the cafe. Paid through the nose. Went exploring.
I have a tradition of buying an item of clothing from each country I visit. Shopping in Amsterdam proved a bit of a challenge since I wanted something that I could not get in the states. Much to my chagrin, everything looked identical to US stores, only it cost the approximate value of $30 more. Eventually I settled on an incredibly over-priced linen dress that looked like something a skater from Derby Liberation Front would wear and went on my merry way. Checked in at a hip little basement cafe for internet, tried to connect with the two Dutch girls I'd met in Nepal, but to no avail. I resigned myself to a birthday on my own.
I wandered the city, soaking up sights, trying to identify those unique little cultural things that everyone observes without knowing it. Amsterdam felt like a blend of Germany and the states. Nothing too radical to report.
I took a canal cruise and chummed around with seven Malaysian girls who were fluent in English and extremely charming! They already had dinner plans after the cruise, so I headed off to an Irish pub. I figured either my ancestors or my countrymen would be drawn to the scent of fish 'n' chips and Guinness. Had a great, friendly waiter (American) who went out of his way to take care of me. While I sat soaking up cool Amsterdam air, I made a list in my journal. "30 Things by 30." Thirty things I want to do with my life before the end of my 30th year. That number is such a strange one. It looms over your twenties like a dark shadow. We all know it's coming, but somehow it draws stealthily nigh and then jumps at us when we least expect it, scaring us into a quarter-life crisis. My lists make me feel better. I put things on them that I know I can accomplish. I put things on there knowing that my bucket list is growing shorter and shorter. I am, slowly, becoming who I want to be.
Around midnight I felt that my personal little party had ended, along with my birthday, so I headed back to Schiphol. Schiphol and I do not get along. That is, when I'm ready to sleep, we don't get along. Nowhere is there a space longer than three feet without an arm rest interrupting it. I found a lounge that appeared the closest I was going to get to comfort for the night. Unfortunately, said lounge was right next to the children's jungle play area. I am not exactly sure whose demise I hope for with greater fervor: the designers who put the play area so close to the lounge, or the Dutch parents that seemed to think it was perfectly reasonable to let their SCREAMING children romp all about it at 3 AM. You're Dutch! What are you doing in the freaking airport at 3 AM anyway???
After an hour of futile attempts to sleep so close to the sounds of child demon possession, I spotted an alternative: a baby care room. With a door that SHUT! Dark, silent, with private little areas that had curtains pulled around them. I peeped into one. Soft spot to sit, large, well-padded crib. And here - I am not kidding - is where I slept in Schiphol:
This is probably the moment to make some ironic comment about returning to the cradle after celebrating the last birthday on which I will be considered "in my twenties," but I'm not clever enough to think of it.
My final take on Amsterdam is that it's a good city, but it's a city like any other. I enjoy some places on my own very much. I get just as much enjoyment alone as I do with a crowd. Amsterdam is not like that. Amsterdam has an air of camaraderie, of community. It's a place to do things with friends. So my enjoyment would be greatly enhanced if I had had someone to share it with. And....if I had just caved and spent money on a hotel.
I landed in the Netherlands late on the afternoon of my birthday, June 9. After encountering several blond airport employees who wanted nothing to do with me, I finally found my way out of the labyrinth that is Schiphol and began my adventure.
First stop: tourist information. She also wanted nothing to do with me. The wealth of information and suggestions for a hip, young world traveler who is not afraid of new experiences was not forthcoming. When I asked what she suggested I do in the evening, she shrugged, helplessly. A 22-year-old Dutch girl who can't think what's fun to do after dark? Okay. Not what I expected of you, Amsterdam.
So I hopped a bus for Museumplein and the Van Gogh museum. Hint: if you don't buy your bus pass before you board, they don't really want to bother with you and you can end up riding public transit the entire day for free!
I have a tradition of buying an item of clothing from each country I visit. Shopping in Amsterdam proved a bit of a challenge since I wanted something that I could not get in the states. Much to my chagrin, everything looked identical to US stores, only it cost the approximate value of $30 more. Eventually I settled on an incredibly over-priced linen dress that looked like something a skater from Derby Liberation Front would wear and went on my merry way. Checked in at a hip little basement cafe for internet, tried to connect with the two Dutch girls I'd met in Nepal, but to no avail. I resigned myself to a birthday on my own.I wandered the city, soaking up sights, trying to identify those unique little cultural things that everyone observes without knowing it. Amsterdam felt like a blend of Germany and the states. Nothing too radical to report.
I took a canal cruise and chummed around with seven Malaysian girls who were fluent in English and extremely charming! They already had dinner plans after the cruise, so I headed off to an Irish pub. I figured either my ancestors or my countrymen would be drawn to the scent of fish 'n' chips and Guinness. Had a great, friendly waiter (American) who went out of his way to take care of me. While I sat soaking up cool Amsterdam air, I made a list in my journal. "30 Things by 30." Thirty things I want to do with my life before the end of my 30th year. That number is such a strange one. It looms over your twenties like a dark shadow. We all know it's coming, but somehow it draws stealthily nigh and then jumps at us when we least expect it, scaring us into a quarter-life crisis. My lists make me feel better. I put things on them that I know I can accomplish. I put things on there knowing that my bucket list is growing shorter and shorter. I am, slowly, becoming who I want to be.
Around midnight I felt that my personal little party had ended, along with my birthday, so I headed back to Schiphol. Schiphol and I do not get along. That is, when I'm ready to sleep, we don't get along. Nowhere is there a space longer than three feet without an arm rest interrupting it. I found a lounge that appeared the closest I was going to get to comfort for the night. Unfortunately, said lounge was right next to the children's jungle play area. I am not exactly sure whose demise I hope for with greater fervor: the designers who put the play area so close to the lounge, or the Dutch parents that seemed to think it was perfectly reasonable to let their SCREAMING children romp all about it at 3 AM. You're Dutch! What are you doing in the freaking airport at 3 AM anyway???
After an hour of futile attempts to sleep so close to the sounds of child demon possession, I spotted an alternative: a baby care room. With a door that SHUT! Dark, silent, with private little areas that had curtains pulled around them. I peeped into one. Soft spot to sit, large, well-padded crib. And here - I am not kidding - is where I slept in Schiphol:
My final take on Amsterdam is that it's a good city, but it's a city like any other. I enjoy some places on my own very much. I get just as much enjoyment alone as I do with a crowd. Amsterdam is not like that. Amsterdam has an air of camaraderie, of community. It's a place to do things with friends. So my enjoyment would be greatly enhanced if I had had someone to share it with. And....if I had just caved and spent money on a hotel.
Fabulous! A birthday never to forget. :)
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