Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll

When I went to Amsterdam I wasn't sure what I was getting myself into.  I chose it as a destination because of the IB training that I've already mentioned a few times, and that was my priority, because I'm planning to leave my current school after this year and want to be as marketable as I can be.  When I chose it, I bought the Lonely Planet guide, and yet, I never actually got around to reading it - it's been a busy spring.  Blondie went there during the Christmas break and hated it - long lines into museums and too many people smoking pot.  Time Lady adored it during spring break, although with it being a busy spring I never got around to discussing its finer points with her.  So I sort of came on this trip a blank slate, and didn't leave with that super excited feeling.  In fact, I was a little apprehensive about being there for two whole weeks.  What if I ran out of things to do!?

Well, fortunately, I am an art teacher, and in a city like Amsterdam that means you will never actually run out of things to do.  The amount of art to see, and art history to experience, is amazing.  Being a seasoned traveler, though, I was aware of the pitfalls of museumitis, and since I had nearly two weeks, I planned my museum-going accordingly, limiting myself to one museum per day, getting up at the buttcrack of dawn to be one of the first to enter and - thus - saving myself from the lines that Blondie mentioned (and being jetlagged meant that this was not actually that extraordinary a feat).  The first stop on my list was a the Rijksmuseum.

I took a Northern Renaissance art history class in university, so the name of the Rijksmuseum was familiar to me (in my professor's rickety, thousand year-old voice), as were many of the artists in the collection.  It's the home of Rembrandt's The Night Watch as well as several Vermeer's.  The thing about standing in front of world-class, super famous art, though, is that it's a little surreal.  And the thing about writing a blog is that the intended audience is not a bunch of art people, and even if it were, I probably couldn't tell you anything about Franz Hals that you don't already know, because I'm not that great a scholar.  What I will be doing, instead, is sharing some art works that made me laugh or got some other sort of reaction out of me.  The detail above is about being inspired by the muse of music.  I found it interesting to see, even in their art works, that the Dutch are much more sexually liberated than some other parts of Europe, because even though there are a lot of pinched nipples in history, how many artists would choose to depict the muse squirting milk over a violin's strings as a way of providing inspiration.  There were other indications of this (such as the "Womb Room"), but let's move on, shall we?

The morning I went to the Rijksmuseum I was able to buy my ticket for the Van Gogh museum at the same time, which saved me from having to stand in line, although I still went ahead and bought the 9 a.m. entry - I figured the fewer people I had to share Vincent with, the happier I would be.  It was interesting to see so many works from throughout his life in one place - to see the transitions he made throughout his career.  I found myself thanking all that is artistic that he moved on from his peasant paintings really quick - I respect his admiration for the home-grown country life and I think he would have appreciated Mongolia for that reason, and who doesn't like a painting of people getting buzzed on absinthe?  However, as I've stated before, I'm kind of a whore for color, so I'm glad he moved on.  His later color schemes were absolutely brilliant.  I also picked up on something I hadn't noticed before - I knew that Van Gogh was inspired by Hiroshige and other ukiyo-e printmakers, but it wasn't until I was looking at some of his sketches that I noticed the similarity of his figure studies to some of the ones that Hokusai did.  So that was fun.  Sorry, there's no photos - I did a few sketches but decided to leave my camera out of it.

Speaking of my obsession with color, this was one of the things I loved the most about the Rembrandshuis Museum as well, which I saw almost as bright and early on day three (it didn't open until 10).  Each room in the house has been carefully curated (with the manifests from when he went bankrupt) so that it looks as it did when he lived there, and it's amazing to really get a feel for where he would have lived and worked.  My favorite thing, though, was seeing the demonstration of how paints were mixed.  Occasionally this comes up when I'm teaching, but I've never really been able to explain it well, because it wasn't something I've ever done or even seen.  They also had a really cool display showing how artist/scientists were working to analyze and recreate his exact colors using the pigments in ceramic glazes, which was really interesting to see.

My last art museum wasn't one that I really intended to visit.  The Stedelijk houses a really great collection of modern art, but my general take on modern art is that it's not worth paying 15 euros to see.  I'm sorry, but although I'm privileged I'm far from rich and I can see contemporary art in my hometown and pretty much any other city I visit, for much less than 15 euros.  However, it was an object lesson in our IB workshop - our instructor felt that it would be a waste to be teaching about the DP art program to a bunch of art teachers and not take them to an art museum, and it's hard to argue with that.  It was kind of fun to be around other art teachers with my new hair, because I'm not the only one with an obsession with color, and I got a lot of compliments.  Our instructor even pointed out that I needed to take a selfie with this piece because of how well it contrasted with my hair. 

In the end, I saw a lot of museums - although not the Anne Frank House, and I feel like this makes me a terrible person, but I'll add it to my list for when I come back to see the tulips and Fabritius - but I feel like I experienced a lot of other aspects of life in the Netherlands as well.  I think I could put together a really awesome, educational trip for my students...if the trust wasn't long gone, because there is no WAY I am taking my 17 year old boys to a city full of pot and hookers when I know they've snuck out.  As it is, I will have to save up for a while before I attempt it again, because I ate way too many meals in Burger King.

Amsterdamned.

One of the things I love the most about the Netherlands is its strong bicycle culture.  I've lived in a country where people ride bikes (ahem, China), but it's more by necessity than choice, and you can tell that although people ride bikes the practice is not revered by the fact that EVERYONE violates the sanctity of the bike lane...pedestrians, motorcycles, and even somewhat cars.

That is not the case in the Netherlands.  Bicycles outnumber cars by about a million to one (rough approximation), people stay the hell out of the bike lane (except tourists and they're hardly people)...hell, there are even special bike traffic lights.  Cycling is respected here.

I planned to rent a bike, like, every day I was in Amsterdam.  That did not happen.  For starters, my first few days my hotel was outside of the fray, and then I was taking an IB workshop, and then...yes, I know the saying about excuses and assholes.  I'm also kind of...how should I say it?...fat.  Apart from teaching my ass off (unfortunately, not literally), I haven't gotten a lot of exercise this year, in spite of starting it well and being put to shame by Engrish, who has been known to run in blizzards with six centimeters of snow caked on her body.  So I spent the first week here walking past bikes and cyclists and rental shops without taking part.

To be honest, it was a little intimidating.  For so many people to ride bikes, and everything work in such an orderly way, there must be a ton of rules, and the more rules there are, the likelier I am to unwittingly break them.  Also, I'm not the most coordinated person, and I was imagining that a 17-bike pile-up would not be a pretty sight.  I did NOT want to be THAT tourist, the one who threw a wrench in the works and made the whole system go to hell.  In the end, my bike envy won over my fear and I went to Green Budget Bikes to see about renting one for Wednesday.

It seems like renting a bike should be pretty straightforward, and in theory it is.  You go in, leave your passport as collateral, and ride off on whichever bike they give you.  The problem was that I'd left my passport in my room.  On the top floor of the Hotel de Westertoren.  There are 37 stairs in the pictured flight alone (up to "reception") and another 35 more total in the next two stairways up to my room.  I was not going back up for my passport.  So I asked if I could leave a driver's license instead.  Yes, was the answer, with a 100 euro deposit.  Okay, I thought, I can live with that.  Better than climbing up all 500 stairs (especially since the steps are narrow so I have to go down in reverse, because I have a reasonable amount of fear when it comes to stairways).  Then I came to the clincher - I wanted a bike with a basket or a little rack on the front, so that I could keep my eye on my backpack and not have to wear it.  The problem was they only had one that wasn't a kid's bike, and it was 3 euro more.

I asked myself over and over in the following hour what was the big deal?  Why didn't I just say, "Sure, I can live with that."  3 bloody euro for an hour of my life?  No problem.  Instead, for some reason I said I'd go look elsewhere.  After all, I'd walked past about two dozen bike rental shops over the last several days.  Surely somewhere else had what I was looking for at a better price!  It's a buyers' market, after all.  Well, I'm an idiot.  Not because I was wrong...because I could not, for the life of me, find even a single other bike shop that morning.  So I stomped and fumed and kicked myself in the ass a little, and ended up back at Green Budget Bikes again, asking (very politely), if it was fine with them, could I still please rent that very lovely bike with the rack on the front?

So finally, around 11 o'clock, I got on my way for real.  At one point early on in the bike rental dance, the lady I was talking to asked if I wanted foot brakes or hand brakes, which were 3 euro more.  I thought foot brakes were fine, and it turned out that the bike I ended up with had foot brakes, so I guess it's good that that's what I'd wanted.  My first ever bike, back in the dim years of my childhood, had been equipped with foot brakes, after all.  In fact, there is a story about the time I missed a day of third grade because I forgot where the brakes on my brand-new Street Machine were...and I went flying off the end of the dirt road to land in the field.  Since then, as it turns out, I have gotten used to hand brakes, and it took me a few tries to figure out why it was hard to stop by dragging my feet.  Huh.  Go figure.  Luckily, I was able to get through the day without a complimentary story about the time I hurt myself because I forgot the brakes were on the pedals, but it was close a couple of times.

Anyways, I pedaled along Singel Canal, then followed the tram tracks over to the museum square.  I knew I wanted to spend a good long time cycling, but there were a couple of things on my agenda that day as well, starting with a visit to the MOCO (modern/contemporary) museum, which had Banksy and Warhol on exhibit.  After that, I biked over near Rembrandt Square (yes, that is a complete sculptural arrangement of all the figures in "The Night Watch"), to check out a burrito shop I'd been eyeing every time I passed it on the tram.  It's called The Salsa Shop, and it's kind of a Chipotle knock-off, but I didn't care for it - the barbacoa was a little too chunky and chewy, and the flavor was too sweet.  I preferred the California Burrito Company just in and up from my hotel.

After lunch I booked it over to Buikdanswinkel, where I had a belly dance lesson that afternoon.  I found Shaheen listed on Oriental Dancer (although she turned out to be listed on Shira, as well - I just like the format on Oriental Dancer a little better because it has photos).  I gave it a good hour, even if I am out of practice - I really liked Shaheen's choreography and she was really encouraging.  And then I got back on the bike...  I can't say that the bike robbed me of my virtue, because you may be assuming too much by thinking I have any in the first place, but it was not pleasant.  I had not ridden too far, but I've been out of the saddle a loooong time.  As in, I'm not sure I've been on a bike since Bagan.  Which is sad because I actually own a bike, but since its tires went mysteriously flat two years ago I haven't actually cared enough to deal with it.  Hopefully that will change since I bought some kickass saddlebags at the VanGogh museum that I'd been lusting after since I first saw a bike whiz past with them.  If not, maybe when I land that dream job in Japan, which also has a definite cycling culture.

Anyways, despite my legs and other parts whining at me, I got back on my bike and rode around some more, partly because cycling around Amsterdam, over the canals and along sun-dappled tree-lined streets was fun, partly because I'd paid for 24 hours and I was going to make my 12 euros count...but mostly because I was quite a ways from the shop.  I ended up on a street that I knew would lead me into Chinatown, and figured it would be interesting to see it again (since it wasn't pissing rain this time), but when I got there, I actually didn't care.  I'd accidentally wandered into the red light district, which was fine on that account - the hookers aren't that provocative and I don't really mind the smell of pot smoke, it's preferable to tobacco (at least when I'm on the street - in my home I'd better not smell any smoke unless the place is on fire).  The problem was all.  The.  Bloody.  Tourists.  Even if they hadn't been idiots, there were just too many of them to fit on the sidewalks, so the streets were clogged with them.  I had to actually get off my bike and walk it around, and that was more annoying and exhausting than anything.  So I ended up taking the bike back.  Because you know what's better than cycling over canals and along sun-dappled streets?  Not wanting to smack people who desperately deserve it.

Sunday Best

I was gonna update my blog...until I got high...  Just kidding folks.  I thought the reference to the Afroman song was apropos, being in Amsterdam and all, but I've just been shit at blogging this year (someday I will finish the two posts I wrote about my trip to Chicago in March.  Someday).  Sadly, I can't blame my laziness on any controlled substances, because even though they're easily available here, my contact with them has been purely accidental (you can take the Mormon girl out of church, it turns out, but you can't take the church out of a Mormon girl.  Go figure).  Speaking of church, after finishing up the IB training that brought me to Amsterdam this afternoon, I decided that the way to spend my Sunday was to visit some of the churches I've been walking past for nearly a week now.

So.  Churches.  They're here, and I've heard about them before.  Apparently Anne Frank wrote about the sound of the bells of the Westerkerk in her diary.  I haven't read it since middle school, but I picked that up from somewhere, probably the canal ride I took last Monday.  And I'm pretty sure the professor in my Northern Renaissance art history course quacked...err, lectured...about them, since I know I'd seen images of their interiors.  They seem as ubiquitous as mosques were in the middle east, but since I was up at 5:30 this morning, I can tell you that church bells ringing (and they all seem to have bells, fyi) are not nearly as aggressive (or as eerie, because at 5:30 a.m. the muezzin is truly haunting) as the call to prayer, even if they happen more often.

The first church I visited was the Oude Kerk, the old church.  I came across it on Monday, as I accidentally wandered into the Red Light District for the first time (more about that later).  It's been there for 800-some years, starting out Catholic and converting to Calvinism with the rest of the country after the reformation.

What I remember about whatever Dutch church it was we looked at in art history was how sparse they were inside.  There is a lot of open space and they seem rather austere, if you're used to the sorts of sensory overload altarpieces you typically find in Catholic churches.  That was my impression upon entering the Oude Kerk.  As I walked around though, the perfume of the Divine began to flood my senses.  I caught hints of old wood, the must of dying flowers, lingering traces of candlewax long gone, and well-worn upholstery.  It caught me off guard.  I think scent transports me through time more than any other sense, and thus I found myself in my childhood, in my grandmother's baptist church - another denomination, another continent, a different century.  And yet the scent was the same.

The Oude Kerk is playing host to an art exhibit at the moment called Once in a Lifetime.  It dealt with carpe-ing the fuck out of your diems and the transcendence of life, but also added a fairly creepy vibe, what with all the wilty roses scattered over the graves (aka, the floor of the church).  Also, there was this delightful sculpture, which more than anything reminded me of the mummies in the necropolis south of Nazca, Peru...although Buddhism's mummified monks were a close second.

I moved on to the Nieuwe Kerk (New Church...the Dutch are very creative when it comes to names) next.  They were also hosting an exhibition (who would have thought of using a church as an exhibition space???  Apparently the Dutch, so maybe they're more creative than their naming abilities indicate), in this case of World Press Photos.  I found these artworks actually more compelling than the existential pieces in the Oude Kerk, probably because a great number of them dealt with the Syrian refugee crisis, which is some heavy stuff.

In fact, the photography kind of overpowers the church, which is cool, because it's a pretty impressive church.  I did pick up on the continued theme of dark wood and white, which I think is an interesting architectural combination - the warmth of the wood keeps the white from becoming cold and boring.

I was planning to make it a threesome (I say hey, when in Amsterdam, make all the sex and drug references you can) by visiting the Westerkerk (given their penchant for simplistic names, do I need to translate this one for you?), which is just a little west of my hotel, but I was amazed to find out that they were closed ("Never on Sunday," I guess...).  I also got to see the line for the Anne Frank Museum, which wrapped around the side and almost all the way to where some sort of gay pride event going on in the back (literally - that's not just me making obscene references).  This finally lit a fire under me to see about buying tickets in advance, but I was disappointed to see that they are sold out...for the next two months.  Apparently you can buy advance tickets for the mornings, but starting at 3:30 it's general admission, so I went back and checked the line today at 4.  This time it actually went all the way around the church to the front, so I may not be visiting the Anne Frank museum.  This is a little sad, but I can probably live with it, given the alternative is standing in line, inhaling other peoples' weed, for hours on end.  And speaking of end, this is it.  For today, at any rate.