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How Much Is That prozzie In The Window?

(The one with the waggly tale?)

By Kamouraskan and Lariel

Disclaimer: This article is copyright to the authors April 2008. All photos used were taken by and are the property of the authors.

Amsterdam! A City With Every Kind of Pot and a prostitute in every window. Yeah, well, regardless of all the knowing looks we get whenever we say we just came back from Amsterdam, that isn't what the city is about, or what happened while we were there. At least, not entirely.

The fact that this trip was a birthday present from the wife would have many of my oldest friends raising their eyebrows in the assumption that this would be an all-out debauch of Bacchanalian proportions. I swear to you, that anything to do with prostitution or drugs was entirely in the name of pure research.

What's really sad, is that's the truth.

Well, hardly sad, unless you really believe that being in love and clean for over a decade should be seen as a tragedy. Nevertheless, when you get back, people raise their eyebrows, assuming God knows what, and that's especially grating if all you've done is get stuck in a snow storm, a rain storm, and what you're really guilty of is nearly being run over by at least a dozen bicycles while walking on little children's heads.

But if you're prepared for all of the above, read on.

If there's a theme to this one, it's that multiple sources for information before you travel are essential. We didn't follow through with this rule (and it's all Lariel's fault, of course) and we paid the penalty for it.

We also did not do our usual research on the history of the country, as we had only a few days and planned to see the city and its art, not its history. Which is a great pity because the history of the lowlands influenced most of the world. Not only in the dominance of the Dutch wool trade in a jealous London which led to the enormous catalogue of pejorative phrases: ‘Dutch Treat', ‘Dutch Uncle', etc. but also the most obscure battles such as Turnout which inspired the hymn ‘We Gather Together.'

Nope, we were there for a reconnaissance for a possible return; a new country to add to our list; the art; a chance to meet up with our friend Chantal and yes, a look at the semi-legal drug use. Or so was my excuse as I left all the planning to Lariel. Who clearly botched it.

Of course I'm being unfair to Lariel. As the trip was a birthday present, I jumped at the chance to not be involved in the bookings or the planning.

Our first error was our estimate in the time it would take to get to Luton Airport. According to the AA website, it would take 1 hour and fifteen minutes. Now we knew that was garbage because Luton is slightly north of the M25 and off the M1, which is where traffic chaos begins.

The M25 is best known as the ring road circling London and regarded by readers of the book Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman as the Doorway to the Apocalypse. The truth lies somewhere in between. Feeding off this evil is the lamprey-like M1, which adds its own devilment with construction work that seems to have been ongoing since before man invented the inflatable tire. Sorry, we're British: tyre. Anyway, one of the many reasons we moved away from London was to free ourselves from the malevolence of the M25 and the southern stretches of the M1. We compounded this delusional concept by assuming that if we travelled before 8AM we would beat the rush hour traffic and gave ourselves 2 hours to make the safe haven of the wondrous parking lots of Luton.

So let's jump ahead. It's around 8:30 with a 9:10 takeoff time. The rush ‘hour' traffic started at seven and we're stuck like ants in molasses, just one or two miles from the airport. We have achieved the second stage of terminal diagnosis and being late for a plane; anger. I mean, bloody hell! We have prepaid for our hotel in Amsterdam, taken our days off and have a pocket full of Euros, and we know it is impossible to make this plane. The last time I had to rebook a flight, the cheerful Ryannair clerk had demanded more than 10 times the original price of the ticket. Nevertheless, I'm ready to move to the third stage, bargaining.

I dug out the mobile and began searching for an Easyjet number to call. Like most cheap flight operators, (our roundtrip tickets to Amsterdam, including tax, were £40) there was no contact number on any of our flight information. So we paid the damnable Directory Enquiries price, and asked for Luton Airport Easyjet. Maybe the flight was delayed? I mean it had been dozens of times when we were on time or early. So just this once…?

Of course it was on time.

So we asked the nice, charming operator at Easyjet Customer Service, "when's the next flight?"
"That would be 11:00"
"Okay, how much would it cost?" (Please say 40, please say 40…)
"That would be £150."
"Oh?"
"Each."
"Oh?"
"Plus tax."
"Oh. Sure there's not even a slight chance that the plane has been delayed???"
"Well, I can't really confirm, because I'm in Germany."
"Oh."

Time to move to the fourth stage; depression.

The fifth stage, acceptance, was actually a heart warming scene in the airport parking lot where Lariel convinced me that we shouldn't give up on the trip regardless of what the new tickets might cost her.So out of character was it that I realised, gosh, maybe she really does love me, the insane fool, and I agreed to give our trip one last try.

Thank goodness we did because our authority in Germany was wrong on two counts. One, the next flight wasn't until 3:45, and two, that Easyjet had a set £35 charge for missing a flight if the next flight had empty seats. In fact, there were five-foot signs advertising the offer at the Easyjet check-in. Possibly they should send some over to the office in Germany.

So with six hours to kill, we got to really explore all of the expanded Luton Airport's latest blandishments for all too long a period. Most of you have had a similar challenge, and to those that have, can I impress you with how we managed to make one cup of tea and one daily paper (mainly making fun of Heather McCartney's attempts to keep her past out of the papers, post divorce) last for two whole hours?

We also discovered to our shock, that because of the usual ludicrous charges at all the airport shops, pricey Marks and Spencer's, by sticking to their usual inflated prices, was the cheapest place to buy a lunch and bottled water.

After what seemed like days later, we went to security, only to find that it was set at ‘HIGH' today. How appropriate for a trip to Amsterdam. As always with our 3-4 day trips, we pack a single locked wheeled bag and a packsack with all paperwork in the front pockets. God knows why, but I was selected for a random search and my treasured lighter (a gift from the residents of a home I'd worked in) was mistakenly still with me. Thank goodness for security, because although they lovingly caressed my butt cheeks and ran litmus paper through our toothpaste, they missed my heavy metal lighter in our x-rayed carry-on luggage.

The extra and clearly futile security was rather odd as I'd have assumed that Amsterdam, with its reputation as a supplier of soft drugs to Europe, would ensure that the security leaving, not heading to, would be tight. Thanking God that we hadn't hoped to arrive late and zip through security earlier that day, we boarded our cramped Easyjet flight alongside of what looked like the worn out road company of The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, and flew off to Amsterdam, hoping to not miss all of the daylight.

So, as we said, this was a story about getting multiple sources before making choices. So far, the Easyjet Customer Services line was not helpful, and neither was the AA. What truly hurt, was that the other ‘reliable' source was the guidebook we took with us. Our once trustworthy Rough Guide.

It was a newish edition, 2007, and Rough Guide had been our prime source of travel information, both books and online, when we first began to travel together. So if there is a sense of a memory being tarnished, or a friend's betrayal in this story, don't be surprised. It shouldn't have been a surprise; we had noticed that the restaurant reviews had become increasingly inaccurate and the website far less a resource in the past few years, but we still continued to be faithful to a degree. Perhaps it was our expanding reliance on other sources on other trips that caused this betrayal. We'll never know for certain; this tear stained manuscript tells its own story. It hadn't mattered before as much, because on other trips we'd also consulted Lonely Planet, Virtualtourist, Tripadvisor and others. This time we had only the one source.

And to be fair (and only for the briefest of moments) most of the info in the Rough Guide was probably accurate. The problem is that it was not accurate in the two areas we needed it for. Restaurant reviews and prices. The prices can be excused as not being accurate for the off-season or a year out of date, (though I'd like to think they'd research enough to list the off-season prices as well) but the restaurant reviews hurt. When travelling, hell, even when at home, a wonderful meal can set the tone, and can be the core of a great evening. A bad experience or a mediocre meal at too high a price can ruin it. So, sorry guys at Rough Guide. Go back to your old website style, revisit those restaurants, and we'll apologise. But when we visit a city and eat at five restaurants, and four are your recommendations and the fifth is the only one we enjoyed, you've lost our faith for a while.

One thing we had checked out thoroughly, was the Iamsterdam site and its card as well as the regular bus passes. We worked out that we were staying to the west of the town centre, just off what is called the museum quarter. This meant that we might be able to walk everywhere and wouldn't need a full travel card, but after consulting a friend in Rotterdam, we both agreed that we get a certain security from having a full pass for transport in a strange city.

So here were our calculations and a horrifying glimpse into how our minds work. Or, let's do some traveller's math!

If the museums are generally about €10, and each roundtrip single zone bus ride is €2.50 and the canal trip is €10 (according to Rough Guide) and although Amsterdam's main quarters are all in walking distance, how much without any tourist passes or bus passes will we spend?

So add two museums plus one canal trip plus at least 6 bus trips (Back and forth from the airport/train station/hotel and the forecast said rain) equals €45.

If the Iamsterdam card goes for €33 for 24 hours (and we confirmed that was hours from the time first used, and not by the day) €43 for 48 hours and €53 for 72 hours and includes all museums, the canal boat and bus fare, how many passengers got off the train in Rotterdam?

Or we could get just a one-day for €33, do all of the museums and canal trip in that period and walk the rest of the stay. Well, then, how many museums do you want to see in the 48 hours?

We agreed that the Van Gogh was a must. There's €10. The other museum we wanted to see was the pride of the Netherlands, the Rijkmuseum, but it's undergoing a massive reconstruction so we decided that the small portion that was open was not worth the time or charge. I felt that there was an obligation to consider seeing the Anne Frank House, or at least the tree in the backyard she was able to look out at, as it apparently is dying, but Lariel is not so plagued with western guilt. So that meant only one museum and a canal trip.

Then we saw that there was a 48hr pass on the transit for only €10.

So the answer is, if we only went to the one museum, took the canal boat, and got the 48 hour transit pass, then the cheapest cost is €30.

So having wasted several pages on an article about the city blathering on about everything else, we finally start to tell you about Amsterdam.

First thing we noticed about Amsterdam, is that it reminded us of China. Okay, that didn't come out right. What struck us is that like China, instead of being ushered from the plane directly in and through hermetically sealed corridors until you reach customs, we found ourselves wandering into the shopping area, mixing with other outgoing and incoming passengers. We almost got lost a few times in the mall, probably because we're more used to being marched through one-way empty tunnels until you get to passport control.

The next, was that I was expecting that the Dutch would be unfriendly to tourists. I may have loved the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers, but I wouldn't want to invite them into my home by the thousands every day. But in contrast, we found the people of Amsterdam to be amongst the most friendly we'd encountered. We had only opened our map in the street for a moment before a resident came over to ask if we needed help. As well, we seldom met anyone who did not speak English, in either the shops or the venues.

Speaking of the shops, there is a 5% tax on most items you purchase, another thing the Rough Guide did not highlight.

Quick tip: If youy plan to buy your train, tram or bus tickets right away, bring or get change in Euros.The machines do not take bills and using your bank card in them can incur some hefty international charges. If you use the people-manned ticket booths, there is a surcharge.

In cash, a €3.80 buys you a 15 minute ride in a spanking new train from the airport to the main train station in Amsterdam, though the Rough Guide claimed €3.60. Once again we found ourselves on a bright, clean, efficiently on time train, making me wonder once again what viscidities of history have made the country that invented the train, end up with the worst system we ever ride in.

Even more embarrassing, is that the train station was part of a properly organised central hub, mixing both the canal boats, trains to elsewhere in Europe and the main tram and bus station. Unlike England, where bus drivers seem curiously proud that they drop you off six blocks from your transfer point.

Taking a deep breath, we stepped into the sunset-lit streets.

The city is unlike most, in that it spreads outwards as though the buildings and streets were an alluvial fan at the mouth of a far greater river than the Amstell. The train station is at the very base of this fan and just in front there are the docks for canal cruises and smaller craft that make you think that it hasn't been a thousand years since its fishing village past. Perhaps it's more like an onion, with the Red Light district the narrow oblong centre of the ancient medieval city, wrapped in less seedy but more recent layers, divided by the lengths of the canals

We knew there were canals, but not that there were more than Venice. 100 of the things, stretching over 1000 miles. Unfortunately, to get to them, as usual for almost all terminuses lately, there were also construction barriers. We made our way about them and looked for maps indicating which of the dozens of trams and buses parked out front might be ours. Across from the station, and well indicated by street signs, was the tourist information centre and a genial clerk sold us the 48-hour transit pass and gave us a complete travel map of the city.

From that, it would have been fairly easy to figure out where our hotel was and how to get there, if only the street map in the Rough Guide had not listed the streets by Arabic numbers and the street signs were in Dutch.

Now we can't entirely blame Rough Guide, as there was a handy box in the guide marked AMSTERDAM STREET ADDRESSES, but we spent some panic time looking for Tweede Helmersstraat (the address given by the hotel and on the street signs) instead of their version, 2e Helmerstraat. Finally realising that it wasn't a side street and that Twee was 2 we found what we assumed was the closest stop on the transit map. The bus rushed right by it and it was only later we discovered it was pick-up and not drop off stop. It gave us our first proper opportunity to stroll and be struck by cyclists.

This was our next lesson about Amsterdam; that it is the most bicycle-oriented city that we have ever been to. We would later see massive multi-storied parking lots entirely filled from end to end with thousands of the things. What this really means to the foreign pedestrian, is that along with the canals there are four sets of roads to cross on many streets. There are the tram rails, the road for cars and buses, the sidewalk and the bike lanes, which are difficult in the dark to distinguish between the sidewalks, until you are nearly run over. It takes a while to remember to look to the ground and identify the bike path, especially in those areas where the sidewalk disappears and you are squeezed onto the bike path, invitingly teasing you to continue at your own peril.

Our room at the Amsterdam was a third choice according to Lariel. Her first two had been full even with two months advance booking in the off-season, but it had proved very difficult to find a decent hotel in the city at a decent (ie cheap) price. Like most hotels in the city, the €40 a night included a full continental breakfast, and the staff were welcoming and helpful. The drawback – and we knew there was one, at that remarkable price for a hotel in Amsterdam – was that the room was tiny. This became all too clear when we returned several times soaking wet and had to squeeze around the beds trying to find places to hang wet clothes. There was only a shower but the 200 channels on the television almost made up for that. Many channels ran US programming which to our surprise were never dubbed but always subtitled; a great way to learn the basics of a language, by the way. We were fascinated by the amount of familiar words, the Dutch having clearly gone to the language markets and bought and sold wholesale phrases and words from Germanic English. Nevertheless, as far as TV taste was concerned, I was still hard pressed to understand why King of Queens and Dharma and Greg seemed to be on most of the time.

All that said, the Hotel D'Amsterdam, in spite of its teeny tiny rooms, offered great value for the price (which was remarkable in what turned out to be an expensive city, accommodation wise) and was in a handy location too. And to top it all, it even had a lift, which you'd appreciate if you've ever seen how narrow and steep staircases tend to be in Amsterdam, particularly when trying to carry your luggage up or down them.

Still foolishly using the Rough Guide alone, we'd picked out a series of restaurants nearest our hotel and after a quick cuddle and rest we headed out into the night. Fortunately, unlike restaurants in Italy, the eating times are much like England and North America, and we hoped eight o'clock on a Wednesday in the off season would not be too late or requiring a reservation.

Like most northern countries (hey there, Canada and Britain), colder temperatures and easy chilling meant that spices were not required for covering up rotting food, and most meals were meant to be filling rather than spicy. So going to a Dutch restaurant was not high on our list. We had heard that perversely Thai, Indonesian and Chinese restaurants were supposedly amongst the best in Europe. But after some cold and hungry wandering and staring at menus we rejected the recommended restaurants and took a risk by going to a nearby Thai restaurant, the Sawaddee Ka; a brilliant bit of luck.

The appetisers were all things we were familiar with, but somehow, each was richer and more flavourful that we'd ever tasted. The peanut satay sauce was thicker, the sweet chilli sweeter. The mains were both excellent and we shared them over the plain white rice with delight. The meal, with several beers at €2.25 each, starters and two mains and tip came to just over €40, well in our budget for evening meals. As well the staff joked with us, showed us the Dutch sweet tooth by giving us a variety of gums, sweets and chocolate mints with each passage of the bill-paying ritual. At the end of the meal, for no reason we could possibly understand other than we had been honest in our appreciation, we were presented with a complimentary bottle of wine before leaving.

Definitely our top recommendation for anyone visiting the area.

Despite losing an hour to the time zones, we headed back to our little room, watched some subtitled South Park and fell asleep.

We woke up to Little House on the Prairie and US soap operas, feeling like Gulliver in our little room. The breakfast was from 8-10AM and we sauntered down at 9:30, hoping there was something left. No fears: an excellent buffet with good coffee and choice of teas, lots of croissants and meats, as well fruits and juices. And again with the sweet tooth, lots of icing-filled cakes.

We were tempted to visit the torture museum, or the Amsterdam dungeon, just because we seem to have stumbled into several in too many countries. Are Northern Chinese, Bratslavian, London or French tortures all that different from the Dutch? Would they even back then, have a restrained Calvinist attitude? Well, we'll never know, spoilsports that we are.

To make up for this failure to give you, our friends, the important information on the key elements of the places we visit, I got Lariel to agree to make a purely-for-research purchase at a 'coffee' house.

Yes, the coffee houses of Amsterdam sell a variety of cannabis products, including marijuana and hashish. They are not legal, but decriminalised. In fact, transport to the coffee houses is still technically illegal, and the variety of laws and controls that still exist on the sale, transport and purchase of these drugs makes it clear that it is far from legal.

The most famous and successful of the coffee houses is the Bulldog chain. On the main drag of the Red Light district, we passed three different franchises, including a bar and a café. The original is pretty grotty, and regardless of science or legality, Lariel was not staying for more than 20 seconds in the smoke-filled darkened pub, even if I tried to explain that it was probably a necessary atmosphere for the patrons. I stayed long enough to take a look at the menu (samples started at €5 and keeping with the strange decriminalisation laws, the menu was on a box which lit up to display the prices when you pressed a button). Further along the street, all lined by even more canals (and a row of bicycles) we passed the Hash Museum and inexplicably also did not go in. Me, someone who once subscribed to High Times and read every page of the LeDain report, wasn't interested in exhibits of sneakers made from hemp. God, how has my life turned out this way?

Next to that was Sensi, with a shop display window of the name spelled out in what I assumed were potential sensimilia grass seeds. In almost every shop, and especially the flower markets, there were Magic Mushroom kits, starter marijuana plants and all sorts of things that customs must have more dogs to find than I have skin cells. You could even buy marijuana lollipops.

So as the traditional persecuted underground atmosphere is definitely not Lariel's thing, we went upmarket to the new competitor, The Grasshopper. Upstairs, simply another fern bar, downstairs it was a bit better with air conditioning and air venting working quite well. Nevertheless, Lariel was still uncomfortable, though the place was reasonably well lit and modern glass windows surrounded us. We took a table in the corner and ordered some tea and coffee for both of us and a space cake to share, all at €7.50. The coffee and tea cost almost as much as the cake.

Though at first the crowd seemed to be mainly youngsters, but soon, so we didn't feel like we were over 100 for too long, a table was occupied by a group of older stoners.

Then off to eat at one of the recommended restaurants from the Rough Guide. Not a good decision. Chicken Curry is actually curried chicken and some bread might have helped.

Then we made our way back to the train station for a boat tour. Perhaps it was the off-season, but the Rough Guide had the various one hour tours at €10 and we ended up paying €7. It was worth the money either way. Definitely due to the off-season, there was no line up to get on the next boat. The captain greeted us like old friends and asked where we were from in order to find out the languages needed for all of the passengers. English and German seemed to be sufficient and we took our seats. To my surprise and a bit of concern, there was no safety drill, no life jackets, not even a sign with instructions posted anywhere other than Do Not Stand On The Seats Please.

The tour takes you on a loop of the outer city with a few ventures inside, and makes a great break from walking, while allowing you to see where you might want to go next. We passed the incredible array of houseboats, ranging from shacks of a raft to modern split levels, all due to the expense and scarcity of property in Amsterdam. The anonymous voice pointed out that all the buildings had hooks on girders jutting out from the roofs of each, which were used to move furniture when the residents moved.

We glided by the Anne Frank house, looking like a plain office building except for the dozen or so tourists out front snapping photos. Though cold, I got a chill and remembered with some resentment that the Rough Guide had actually used the word ‘disappeared' to describe the Jewish population's deportation under the Nazis.

We learned that the main churches were named after the markets and the points of the compass. The canals were filled with grebes, ducks, coots and seagulls. If we ever return, I'd love to try the trip at night, it must be spectacular. Or even on a sunny day.

We hit dry dock again, and decided to spend the remainder of the afternoon doing what we enjoy most, namely wandering around cities in exploration. We meandered around the canals and backstreets, enjoying the relatively car free environment. Spring was just starting to bloom; the snowdrops had finished but the daffodils hadn't yet started and much to our disappointment, there were few signs of tulips coming up.

We'd obviously timed our visit wrongly; we'd both hoped to be greeted by vast expanses of tulip fields (probably illustrating our lack of research – since when do you get vast expanses of anything in a city that isn't concrete and brick?) The trees lining the wide streets were just starting to bud, but worse still was the weather. As these trips are my birthday present, we generally end up going away at the beginning of February which isn't the ideal time to go anywhere unless it's skiing. We'd gone to places such as Prague or Bratislava in Winter and wished we'd come in Spring instead, so Lariel took the plunge and delayed my present. It poured down practically the whole time we were there and then to top it all, we'd had snow on our last day.

Amsterdam is a very pretty city, even in the rain. We weren't sure what to expect – again, our lack of research – and the canals certainly were a pleasant surprise. The buildings themselves were also quite quaint. Almost squeezing against each other in their fight for space, it seemed like the average building was tall and slim, the supermodel of architecture. Most were brightly painted, with pointed roofs, and yet all very different in style, almost as though they were exerting their individuality.

The centre of the tourist district is Dam Square. We ended up there many times, but spent very little time there – mainly because it was usually raining when we got there and standing out in an open square in the rain really isn't much fun. But it's a good place to use to orient yourself, as many of the roads radiate off it – including access to the other infamous tourist destination, the red light district.

A word about the red light district. Yes, it's not all glossy. There are a few places with crumbling plaster and a bit of garbage blowing along the streets along the canals, but compared with, say Naples or New York, it is spotless. Much of it is cobble stoned, or kinderkopjes, which delightfully means children's heads. On hearing this, Lariel's strides became much more forceful, I thought.

The Prostitutes in the window (sounds like an episode of Bones, doesn't it?) were not at all impressive in the morning or even the afternoon light. I guessed that this was the less expensive shift, unless they were appealing to a fringe fetish group. Or maybe, with a hangover, having sex with your slightly overweight mother/grandmother was a good headache cure. Either way, they weren't appealing to any kink of mine. According to the guidebook, the windows are rented out for a set amount, but I have to assume that there must be a variance on the day charges.

The evening/night time prostitutes got younger and I suppose better looking, although it was hard to tell with all that harsh neon lighting. We had gone expecting the show-windows to be several storeys up but they weren't – they were all at ground floor level. And we were rather surprised to see that there was no nudity on show at all (maybe it was too chilly at that time of year?) – we'd expected a bare breast or two, but the working girls were all properly covered up in bra and panties. The more daring wore thongs.

Clearly we hadn't thought any of this through, because we were both surprised to see beds behind the girls in the window. I suppose we'd thought a punter would tap on the window and then the girl would vacate her window to retire to a room somewhere, her window being taken over by someone else. But no – prices are negotiated through the window, the door is opened, the curtains are closed and the bed is put to use. The deed is done, the curtains are opened again and the circle of life begins once more. "Do you think they change the sheets?" enquires Lariel, public health playing on her mind.

Our experiment with the space cake had been inconclusive. Lariel claimed no effects, whilst accusing me of weaving all over the pavement. I was convinced that the dosage hadn't been anywhere near enough but I couldn't convince her to try again. So we settled for regularly sampling the only other form of drug she would take – beer.

Another odd phrase in the Rough Guide; Amsterdam is proud of its beer due to the influence of Belgium, the source of modern beer making. Belgium. Well, until this trip, if I was asked to name a dozen countries in Europe that are proud of a long history of beer, I don't think Belgium would have topped my list. My shocking ignorance, I'm afraid, as Belgium beers (Stella and our usual tipple on this trip, Jupiler,) are only a few of the 100's of Belgian beers available. The influence of Belgium, once a part of the Netherlands, is said to be extensive, though outside the museums and beer parlours we only noticed the abundance of waffles in the shops, most coated with icings, whipped cream and fruits. Something Lariel was determined to tuck into eventually.

As the rain began to drop with a vengeance, we decided that it was a good time to hit the museum, and so we headed off to the Van Gogh museum. It had a few bad reviews but I have no idea why. Aside from one of the most famous of his self-portraits and one of the set of ‘Sunflowers', the place has ‘Crows over a Cornfield', certainly as famous a piece of art as exists.

Our only problem was that we got into the line-up for the tickets before realising we'd have to check our backpack, which was another line, though a free service. I hate to think what the lines would be in the peak seasons.

Once in, the museum is laid out on the first floors chronologically. I found it fascinating to see him teaching himself by the standard art class methods as well to see works done by teachers contradicting the oft-stated fact that he was self-taught. There was a protective undertone to the museum as well. Again and again we were told that he was not ‘mad' but suffered from epilepsy. It was a bit of revisionism that made me glad that I hadn't had this particular kind of epilepsy. The one that makes you cut off your ear and kill yourself. As my ear was recently cut off, I was tempted to bring this to the attention of the curators, claiming that it was in admiration for Vincent, and see how they handled it. Only the fact that it would most likely separate me from Lariel stopped me. I did find the protectiveness a bit jarring in a museum dedicated to the facts of life. ‘Crows' was labelled ‘the legend that this is his last painting has no evidence to corroborate it.' Well, was there any evidence to deny it, one of the great legends of art and something that imbues ‘Crows' with even more power?

Sometimes I miss those rationalisations of history, that someone who had epilepsy, schizophrenia, piles or whatever, was the cause of their being mad, stoned for being possessed, or the greatest ruler the country has ever seen.

There is also a large section for his contemporaries and a really instructive section on his sketches and preliminary work.

We spent the last of the afternoon wandering through the misty rain about the garden markets, amazed at the varieties of flowers and of course tulips. We decided that although it was past planting season, we would bring home a mix called Rembrandt bulbs, though at €5-15 only, I was definitely tempted to buy some of the young bonsais. There were lots of Brits in the streets as well, a variety of northern and southern inflection still managing to sound out of place amongst the Dutch and German accents. We resolved to come back tomorrow, with Chantal, and pick up our Rembrandts.

Kekan Van 1870, another recommendation by the Rough Guide was not bad, but this time they had the closing hours wrong and we arrived so late that we were only served out of pity as we slunk in from the street, drenched from our long walk to find it. The staff could have been more resentful, but once we made it clear we would order what was fastest, they could not have been friendlier. We settled for our third choices from a medium sized menu, as the rest were unavailable at the late hour, but were happy with our rough wooden table by the window. A carafe of white was also negotiated with good grace, but we were definitely more upset with the Rough Guide than with our hosts. The coffee again was excellent and at $8.50 for the mains, well within our budget. There were cats wandering around – something we'd noticed in a few of the restaurants and cafes - and one in particular sat down on a chair beside us and shared our entire meal.

We made our soggy way back to our bijou hotel room, draped our sopping clothes over every surface we could find and then cuddled up in bed. Tomorrow, we were meeting Chantal, whom we hadn't seen in person since her trip to the UK several years earlier.

We'd dragged poor Chantal from Rotterdam on an even worse day, weather-wise, than the day before. It alternated between rain and snow – not that sleety snow, but proper flakes that swirled and eddied. It didn't stick though. Really not a good day for wandering, and so we were forced to duck into cafes and bars regularly throughout the day.

The De Jaren was another of the places in the Rough Guide, and was perfect for wet tourists to hide in. More of a cafeteria layout than a restaurant, though the downstairs was full of other refugees, the upstairs had several empty tables for the three of us. On Chantal's recommendation we tried Lamsgehatballetjes (meat balls made of lamb with dip) for €5 as well as a soup and roll for €4. Not great, but good and filling, as northern food should be. The glassed-in view of the canals allowed us to see the few passers-by, but made us envious of the days when it would all be green under a blue sky.

Golden Chopsticks was the final straw with Rough Guide. Described as having the best Chinese in Amsterdam, we had to wonder over our very bland meal if this was what passed for good in the city. Native Chantal assured us that it wasn't a bad meal, but certainly not particularly good. The guide had stated that it was not prepossessing and in the heart of the Red Light District, but in the drizzle, it was ratty and more of a greasy spoon style with not a lot to boast about.

We had left our bags in the train station lockup, which seemed secure and cost €3.50 for the day. Chantal opted to ride with us part of the way, ensuring that she'd be late returning home, but we were appreciative of having a bit more time with her.

We arrived at the airport with lots of time, and once again passed incoming passengers on our way to security. Another oddity was that you only went through security as you reached your gate, rather than security and then heading for the usual 50 gates or so. But we have to say, Schipol airport is a marvellous place. Quick efficient, very well designed with lovely modern touches - none of your plastic row departure lounge seating, Schipol has lovely sofas, desks and work areas. Very modern. We were impressed.

Impressions of Amsterdam? Bit difficult to say really, as we both feel we probably didn't see it at its best. Holland is a country we hadn't really thought of visiting before, and whilst we may not hurry to go back to Amsterdam, we would consider visiting another Dutch destination. Maybe somewhere with windmills, sun and vast fields of tulips in bloom. And where the prostitutes put flowers in their windows.