We leave EWR Sunday afternoon, flying over the North
Atlantic into an accelerated night. “We’ll
sleep on the plane”. One good and two
bad movies later, we land at Schiphol at 6:45 am Monday, almost 1 am at home,
having gotten a full 10 minutes of restful slumber. Amsterdam’s airport is modern and sleek, and
as our cab pulls away, we notice virtually every building in sight is follows
suit. The airport Hilton looks like a
winning design from a junior in architecture school, an unbuildable dream
standing there full-scale right in front of us.
Maybe it the lack of sleep, maybe it’s the ultra-mod cityscape, but we
can’t figure out how we got here.
Our cab sails through the empty streets. Monday after Easter is a holiday here, so this
part of the world will be coming on-line a little later today. We get to our hotel, the Seven One Seven, an
intimate nineteenth century inn in the heart of the city’s historic Canal District.
We’re welcomed warmly with strong cappuccino,
but we have no expectations that our room will be ready at 8am. We change shoes and head out. We have big plans in front of us, visiting
Amsterdam, Holland and The Netherlands all in this first day.
We set out by foot to get our bearings. The canals and their
flanking buildings make for picture postcard views, especially given the mirror
like water and deserted streets bathed in morning sun. the Canal district is made up of four nested
semi-circular canals, each with streets on either side, and about sixteen cross
streets with bridges bisecting the waterways.
We wander a random path, turning down whatever street looks interesting
next. As we walk the sun starts warming
the town and people start appearing, a few at first, then a more steady stream. We wind up at the famous floating flower
market, a two-block long collection of tulip-centric flower shops, each
floating on a barge on the innermost canal of the district. The shops are just opening, and the effect is
like watching a bloom – a little movement, a little more movement, then
inexplicably, a fully formed thing of beauty.
Deciding we’re hungry, we set out to find some of the fabled
Dutch pancakes. We end up at the Happy
Pig, a miniscule pancake shop with an enormous reputation for their rolled
filled pancakes. Like Philly’s
cheesesteaks or Milwaukee’s brats, it’s a thing here, and this is the place for this thing. Thicker then a crepe and thinner then IHOP,
they are perfectly suited for the sweet or savory fillings and toppings
offered. We get one of each – ham, Gouda
and fig in the first and banana, caramel and almonds in the other. They are served in long narrow trays and yes,
they are as yummy as they sound. The
place has about 8 seats total, but somehow 30 people are all happily sharing
the tiny space.
We wander over the big canal into Amsterdam Centrum. We don’t get too far and think that a boat tour
of the canals sounds like a nice place to sit for a while. A nice way to see the city, and we each snuck
in a few minutes of Z’s. At this point
the weather is spectacular 78 and blue blue skys. We decide on one more destination before we
check back into our hotel as this day is far too beautiful to waste
inside. We head to Vondelpark, the big park
in Oud-Zuid, the Old South region of the city on the other side of the Canal
District near the Van Gogh Museum. It’s
a bit of a hike, but well worth the effort.
If you’ve ever been in Philadelphia or New York or Boston on the first
warm day of the spring, you know the feeling.
The people just exude an excitement, an anticipation, a joy that is
perfectly organic to all living creatures.
The park is hip and vibey, its manicured beauty enhanced by today’s
inhabitants. Biking, walking, or just
laying in the grass, everyone there knowing that this is a moment in time.
Bleary and awake for about 25 hours now, we finally get into
our room. A lovely suite up three flights
of steep, narrow stairs, it’s huge for a room in an old European city and
wonderfully decorated with a big brass bed and period furniture. Naps come easily and deeply. As it’s a holiday, most restaurants have been
booked for months, but our host got us a reservation at Lion Noir, one of the
more swanky restaurants in the city. Sitting
the pleasantly secluded rear garden, we ordered the chef’s tasting menu and
pared it with several glasses of nice red.
Creative and artfully plated, this was clearly the work of very skilled
chef, but we found a few of the dishes to be a bit overreaching.
To our surprise, there is an hour more daylight here than at
home. The day’s generous warmth lasted
far later than we expected, but night has come now in earnest. We head back to our room, cool breezes welcomed
through the five huge set of double windows surrounding the suite. Now bleary and buzzy, we fall asleep, still
wondering how we got here or if we collectively dreamed the whole thing.
(click on the pictures to view in full screen)
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