Holland - Amsterdam & The Hague
7 September 2007
I've never gotten dressed and packed so quickly or quietly in my life. I nearly broke a toe with all the moving around on my toes, but it was worth it; Andrew and I got out of the hostel before Virgil had woken or moved a muscle from his bed. With that load off my shoulders, the only one I had to handle was the literal load of my backpack as we took the long walk across the city to the Rijksmuseum, where we met Megan and walked to her hostel after the security guards informed us that we weren't allowed inside with our backpacks, not even just to drop them in the cloakroom. Thankfully, her hostel was close, and we had no further trouble with Security once we got back to the museum (since we're such troublemakers and all).
Am I incriminating myself to say that the three of us got into the museum for free? I'm sure that's what Dutch museum officials do in their spare time -- troll the internet to find blogs where American tourists admit that they lied about their age in order to gain free admission. There, I said it. We pulled this a few times over the course of the trip; bless the Europeans and their discounts, and their trusting ways. They didn't so much as blink at the Rijksmuseum when we said that we were 18; just waved us on through. Score one for looking like I'm still in high school. Everyone keeps telling me that I'll love it when I'm 40, but as I still have 20 years to go, I appreciate the occasional bone thrown my way. Genial Bartender last night wouldn't believe that Andrew and I were 20 after we told him. He kept saying, "It's alright, you don't have to lie, I'm still going to serve you guys; how old are you really?" It was nice to be able to put those baby faces to good use today.
I liked the museum more than I was expecting. Paintings never have had much of a hold on me, but I hadn't realized beforehand that the Rijksmuseum features much more than paintings by Vermeer and Rembrandt (or, as my Red Sox-starved brain started referring to him as I sat in the galleries and watched the tour groups go by, Remmie). There was a huge section on the Dutch East India Trading Company, cases full of old ornate weapons and silver, and these incredible dollhouses that you had to get on a ladder to see the entirety of. I said that they were pretty damn cool toys -- and then someone pointed out the plaque that said these were not toys; these were exact replicas of the houses of Dutch young brides, each of whom then outfitted the dollhouse like a miniature version of her home. Dutch ladies sure had a lot of time on their hands in the 16th and 17th centuries.
I wasn't especially excited about the rooms full of paintings by Rembrandt and Vermeer, as my earlier comment probably suggested. I wound up resting my feet on the large benches in the middle of the rooms while Andrew and Megan listened to their audioguides and studied the paintings. It's such a strange culture we live in, jostling each other with delusions of politeness while lining up to slowly pass in front of a painting of a woman pouring a glass of milk, peering closely at it and making 'Ooh' and 'Ahhhh' sorts of noises. What is there to ooh and ahh about? It's a bunch of paint on a canvas. I know, I know, again: philistine, heathen, I don't appreciate the finer things in life, etc. etc.
I felt for the guides who were taking the groups through. If the art had any meaning at all to them in the first place, does it get drummed out after leading groups of tourists through and regurgitating the same information, all day, every day? I couldn't help but think of the way that, if I say a word enough times in a row, it slowly warps until the meaning has fled my mind somewhere along the way, and I'm left wondering, 'What is "potato," anyway?'
Once Andrew and Megan had had their fill of paintings, and I mine of cool old weapons, we picked up our backpacks from Megan's hostel and had lunch in Vondelpark. Andrew had been carrying around a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese for the past day or so, and the three of us had a feast of amazing bread and cheese that he'd found at a bakery or a deli or something along those lines. It was a lovely park, incredibly green, and even nicer, there were people using it everywhere. People walking their dogs, sunning themselves, eating lunch, napping on benches, walking hand-in-hand. From what (admittedly, little) I've seen, Europeans really use the green spaces that they have. After our lunch, Andrew and I said goodbye to Megan with plans to meet up with her in Amsterdam again a few days later, to travel to Germany together, and we took that long-ass walk back across the canals, through the crowds watching street performers, past the sex museum and the fry stands, to Centraal Station.
When we arrived in the Hague (Den Haag, my soul cries out for me to use, but I said I'm going with the presumptuous Anglicized names and I'm sticking to my guns here), we were totally lost. We had nothing but a GoogleMap printout and a vague idea of where we were, and we wandered the streets, looking helpless with said GoogleMap printout. However, good fortune was ours. We looked pathetic enough that a woman on a bike waiting at a red light called over to us and asked if we needed help. We showed her where we were trying to get to, she pointed out which way to go and gave directions even after her light had turned green, and then we went our separate ways. I was really surprised and completely delighted to have had a complete stranger offer to help us like that, and, even better, she turned out to be 100% correct! We reached the hostel on the strength of her directions, with no further trouble.
I'll have to give more of an impression of the Hague tomorrow; I haven't seen enough of it yet today, and everything's closed for the night. The hostel is grand; six beds, lockable cabinets in the actual room, a table and chairs, OUR OWN TOILET AND SHOWER-- The Hague is worth it already, just for the hostel. There's a great view of the city from the window, too! We ate at the bar, where I continued my grand (legal!) Heineken tradition, and also my grand legal lightweight tradition, and then we went out to see what we could of the city. We didn't get very far; just to a market to buy food and water, and I took way too many blurry, bad pictures. When we got back to the hostel and were still the only people in the room right up until 8:30 or 9:00, we began to have visions of spreading our stuff out across all six beds and the floor, but alas, it wasn't meant to be. A key turned in the lock, and we met Neil and ... I'm going to go with Gerrish, but I'm really not sure that that was how you spell it. They were cousins, Neil from Boston and Gerrish from Britain. Boston-cousin had just finished his masters degree, and was going on a trip as a present to himself, with British cousin happily tagging along. They're nice guys, really funny; I wish they were going to be here longer, but it's just the one night for them.
Within ten minutes, Gerrish had offered us Jaffa cakes and said "cracking." It was the best thing ever.
Another pair followed shortly after the two of them; a Greek woman and a Greek-American man (or maybe it was the other way around; I'm not entirely sure). She asked if Andrew and I were together, and there was this awkward pause, the kind that comes just before two people start laughing in your face, and she quickly added, 'Traveling together.' They were friendly, too, and now the four of them have gone off (separately) for food, and while we can't use all the beds, Andrew and I have still had this place entirely to ourselves all day and night. Not bad. Not bad at all. All caught up, now I sleep.
-- Except, wow, I can't believe I didn't write about this. Maybe I'm trying to block it out of my memory? I had Bank Drama today. My account got locked because of some personal idiocy that I carried out right before I left the States (I called to make sure it wouldn't get locked -- and I didn't know the answers to all of the identity-verifying questions that the operator asked me), and I had two women trying to tell me that I could not unfreeze my account without setting foot in a My Bank branch. I tried to explain to them that I was on a continent where there was not a single My Bank branch, and would be so until December, but they were Just Not Getting it. Finally, after a great deal of crying and flailing at my mom, and an obscene amount of money spent on phone minutes, and some calculated crying at Bank Man on the phone, I got him to talk to his supervisor, who said that I just have to go to any bank here and get them to fax copies of two forms of picture ID, on bank letterhead, to Bank of Great Fail. He gave me a fax number. Here's hoping it actually works.
8 September 2007
Well, that sucked.
The Dutch bank that I went to this morning very politely told me that they cannot send a fax for me, gave me the immediate impression that it was an incredibly weird request, and said they did not know of any European bank that would do what my idiot American bank told me they would do. They told me to send a fax from the telephone shop or to go to my bank (ha fucking ha). My day has been consumed by this, mostly.
Back at the hostel, which I had to return to after striking out with the polite Dutch bank, I spoke more with the Greek and Greek-American couple in our room. They were very nice, indignant on my behalf after hearing some of my half of the conversations with My Stupid Bank, and Victor entertained me with stories of his crazy adventures in London until I felt un-furious enough that I thought I could stand to go out again.
I did walk down to the older section of town, which is lovely. It's a modern city with wide streets, tram lines and all, but with old buildings. I'm going to be sad to say goodbye to the canals, though I know I'll see canals galore in Venice. I wandered through a marketplace and past Oude Kerk (there's one in every Dutch city?); it reminded me of Amsterdam, really, but less touristy and less packed. The streets were a little more open. The old buildings that I mentioned pop up here and there, unexpectedly. I met up with Andrew, who had been getting his museum on, and he went on to Delft, a nearby village and/or town, while I settled in to nap and go to war with my bank, and update this.
I met our two new roommates; a British couple, our age, finishing their travels before getting to uni for their third year. They've been all over the place for the past two weeks, and had forboding words about the frozen north that is Berlin. They said that they're very tired of traveling, and very ready to go home. I'm not sure how well this bodes for us, when we're traveling a week more. Hopefully, they just have weak constitutions?
Wow. I just budgeted out my entire trip so far, and, fudging aside and if I continue in these same spending patterns (which I won't; rail to the Czech Republic and back out again, Italy, Paris...), I'll be significantly under my budget for the trip. I am a golden god!
* * * * *
I finally got the bank problem settled, with the able assistance of Mom and her ability to walk into a bank and talk people into things. It's all set. Cue me sighing a giant sigh of relief. Quiet night in the Hague.
