Tourists

There are so many things to see and do around the city of Amsterdam that I could probably sightsee every day still not get to it all. However, most of the time I try my best NOT to act like a tourist, and instead to do my work and assimilate and attempt to live as “normal” of a life here as possible (it actually only took me a couple weeks to start judging the tourists here as harshly as any local). I’ve been spending the past couple of weekends indulging all those repressed impulses while traveling, but I haven’t spent as much time exploring around Amsterdam as I would like. Fortunately, I have friends who come to visit and give me an excuse to go do all the touristy things I wouldn’t be doing otherwise.

Last Friday, Kristin - who is studying abroad in London - came to visit for the weekend. I had promised her a weekend of fun Amsterdam adventures and enough delicious food to make up for the less-than-exciting culinary options of the U.K. The only thing Kristin said she had to do while she was here was see the Van Gogh Museum, so, after treating her to a stroopwafel and some bread with Nutella back in my apartment, I dutifully took her to Museumplein.

Museumplein literally means “Museum Square,” and it’s essentially a large grassy park abutted by the Rijksmuseum, the Van Gogh Museum, and the Concertgebouw, among other cultural treasures. It was actually my third visit to the Van Gogh Museum since I’ve been here, but it was my first time actually seeing the Van Goghs (the first two times I saw some temporary exhibits of Odilon Redon, Emile Bernard, and Alfred Stevens). As I expected, the paintings were stunning. Art Historian Jen was elated, and Tourist Kristin was fulfilled.

After a quick perusal of the museum shop’s wares, we wandered around Museumplein for awhile. But first, because no adventure (or blog post) is complete without them, we had to get waffles.

Waffle! (and Kristin)

All around Museumplein there are a bunch of painted elephant statues, which are part of something called the Elephant Parade. People from all over have decorate the statues and put them up around Amsterdam. They’re everywhere – on street corners, squares, parks, and even inside the train station. Eventually Christie's will auction them off to raise money for a charity that protects endangered Asian elephants.

Some of the Museumplein elephants were particularly well done, but our favorite by far was this one of President Obama, mostly because a random European guy asked us to take his picture next to it.

I so wish I had a copy of that picture, because it was very funny. The guy started out just sort of hugging the elephant, but before I took the picture he changed his pose and planted a kiss on the elephant’s trunk. I may have unintentionally encouraged him to do this by making an ambiguous hand motion. I was trying to direct Kristin out of the corner of the frame, but I think the man construed it as a sign to get cozy with Obamaphant. He told me it was a “great picture!” afterward.

We had dinner in Leidseplein (a nightlife hotspot on the weekends) at the Pancake Corner, where I introduced Kristin to the wonders of poffertjes and where we caught the tail end of an old Knight Rider episode on the TV. We watched the cheesy break-dancers on Leidseplein for awhle, and then headed back to Funen, where we crashed around 11:00.

On Saturday, Conny and I had some classic Amsterdam plans. We had dubbed it “Sexy Saturday” and decided we would use our visiting tourist as an excuse to explore a bit in the Red Light District. Even though Amsterdam’s notorious wares don’t have much appeal to either Conny or myself, it’s such a famous part of the city that you have to see it at least once while you’re here. By day the Red Light District is just like any other neighborhood in the city. It’s mostly a mixture of shops, casual restaurants, and small businesses. Granted, a preponderance of these places deal with sex work or softcore drugs, but there’s nothing inherently scarier about the location (in fact, the Red Light District has the reputation of being one of the safest neighborhoods in the city). By night it’s a little more crowded, a little more eerie with the actual red lights lit up and women lounging around in windows, but you’re more likely to have trouble with some drunken British tourists (Amsterdam is to the U.K. what Las Vegas is to the U.S.) than anyone else.

When we weren’t at one of our Sexy Saturday sights (the “Condomerie” in the afternoon and the Erotic Museum after in the evening) we walked around and ate more food. We got Kristin her mandatory cone of french fries with mayonnaise, and took our picture in this giant clog in Dam Square:

For dinner we ventured over to one of the more ethnically diverse neighborhoods near Funen for a Food Festival, where we had falafel, green curry, and an absolutely decadent chocolate tarte.

There was also a crazy reggae juice bar booth with its own sound system, DJ, and rastafarian-type workers assuring us that "juice and music" were all we needed for a good time.

On Sunday we didn’t have a ton of time or energy, so we stuck close to Funen. We explored “Rietland Park,” which turned out to consist of a patch of grass with a soccer cage and one lone swing.

Since that was a disappointment, we walked around by the canal for a little while, grabbed lunch at little deli nearby, and headed to my favorite spot: the café under the windmill. Our mission: chocolate mousse.

I love the windmill café, but the service there is agonizingly slow – in part because the waiters here don’t get tipped (and thus have no incentive to be particularly prompt or attentive), but in part because some of the windmill’s waiters (one waitress in particular) are incredibly spacey individuals. We managed to flag down spacey waitress without too much trouble, though, and we got our mousse within a reasonable time frame too.

That was when the British man sitting at the table next to ours commented (rather loudly) to his wife and daughter, “Wow! Look at those desserts!”

I must admit the windmill’s chocolate mousse makes an impressive display – a scoop of white chocolate mousse, a scoop of dark chocolate mousse, a dollop of fresh whipped cream and a tiny cookie on top. The man’s admiration was clearly well-founded. But, he didn’t stop there.

Man: Just think of how many calories must be in one of those things! You’d have to go to the gym for ten days to work off all of those calories.

Us: (askance) Um...

Man: (still loudly) You wouldn't have to eat for a whole week after having one of those! (then, to us) Sorry, girls.

Us: (uncomfortable sort-of-laughter)

At this point his small daughter asked, “What are calories?”

Man: Calories are what make you fat. You know – like the opposite of thin.

Us: Oh god.
Man: (reaching out to pinch his daughter’s belly) Like there, see? You have fat on your body.

Us: (imagining the years of eating disorders and subsequent therapy this poor girl is going have) Wow.

Conny, Kristin and I were horrified at the whole exchange. The girl’s mother said nothing throughout the entire thing, either. The little girl did try to hold her own, saying. “You have fat, too, Daddy! You eat too many chocolates!” Still, it was a highly awkward incident.

Calories notwithstanding, the mousse was excellent – the perfect end to a weekend filled with wonderful food. I took Kristin to the train station not long afterward and then I headed back to Funen, reflecting on something I’ve noticed about myself this year: I always love having visitors. At all the places I call home – whether it’s Frederick, Williamstown, Deep Creek Lake or now Amsterdam –. there’s something about looking at a familiar place through a tourist’s fresh eyes that makes me appreciate it all the more.