Dam, Dam, Dam
Amsterdam. The Venice of the North, some call it. And it really is just as wonderful as they say. That is, if you have a working ATM card and credit card. Which I don't. Let me explain.
I arrived in Amsterdam at 12:55pm local time, as planned. The Icelandair experience was lovely, but I was ready to be off that plane by the time we landed at Schipol. Before going through customs again (I officially entered the EU when I landed in Iceland, which confuses me a little), I decided to get some euros out of an ATM, seeing as all I had on me were Swiss Francs and US Dollars. I popped my card into the machine, typed in my PIN and received a "your card does not work in this ATM" sign. I went to another ATM. Same story. So, here I am, in a foreign country, with a bunch of greenbacks, and no way to get money out of my accounts. I find my way to the train station (which is inside Schipol) and try my credit card in the automated machine. It asks for a PIN number (which I don't have) and then rejects my card. I was getting a little concerned about how I was going to pay for my hostel room. I went to the change counter and got $100 in euros, which I managed to stretch to cover my ticket, hostel, dinner and phone card to start haranguing USAA and my parents. After I made it into the city, I found my very lovely and art-deco hostel (which the help of a delightful old man who taught me "danke" as "thanks"), paid with my precious euro bills and settled onto my hostel bed. At this point, the voice of Rick Steves popped into my head: "If you don't like the situation, change your attitude". Which is what I did. I put on my walking shoes and took a stroll around Amsterdam.
Amsterdam has this funky, sort of new-age feel to it. You can smell pot coming from every corner coffeeshop as bikes (with their own lanes and stoplights!) blow past you, usually faster than cars. The Hiawatha Line is also a predominant mode of transportation, with electric trams racing all over the city. But, for my arrival day, it was just me and my feet. I strolled along the canals, watching a Dutch fisherman reel in a big one; I waved at kids off to play soccer in their HUP HOLLAND orange jerseys; and I eventually found my way into a grocery store to scavenge for dinner. The residential parts of Amsterdam feel very different from my Red Light District hostel. It's almost suburban, and certainly less seedy.
After dinner (breads, cheeses, chocolate and meat, all next to a huge windmill), I began my return to the hostel. Thinking it would be a good time for a nap, I expected a quick trip, until I met The New Yorkers. This couple, who shall remain nameless because I never learned their names, were in search of "the Red Light District for real" and wanted company. Following the "yes and" theory of travel, I decided to tag along. Well, was I in for a surprise! This couple was interested in checking sites off the list, not actually trying to get a taste of them. There they were, tourists to the max, viewing Amsterdam from behind a camcorder. I bugged out after about a half hour, mostly because of exhaustion, but also because I couldn't take the tourist mentality anymore. I'm here to get a taste of real Amsterdam, not some display put up for the tourists. I went back to the hostel and crashed.
That evening, after more calls to USAA, I met Beck, a world traveler from Australia, who invited me for a stroll around the city. We walked for three hours, crisscrossing canals and getting a real late-night taste of Amsterdam. We bumped into neighborhood bars, families out having wine on their stoops, illuminated canals and quaint thoroughfares. That is my kind of tourism.
I arrived in Amsterdam at 12:55pm local time, as planned. The Icelandair experience was lovely, but I was ready to be off that plane by the time we landed at Schipol. Before going through customs again (I officially entered the EU when I landed in Iceland, which confuses me a little), I decided to get some euros out of an ATM, seeing as all I had on me were Swiss Francs and US Dollars. I popped my card into the machine, typed in my PIN and received a "your card does not work in this ATM" sign. I went to another ATM. Same story. So, here I am, in a foreign country, with a bunch of greenbacks, and no way to get money out of my accounts. I find my way to the train station (which is inside Schipol) and try my credit card in the automated machine. It asks for a PIN number (which I don't have) and then rejects my card. I was getting a little concerned about how I was going to pay for my hostel room. I went to the change counter and got $100 in euros, which I managed to stretch to cover my ticket, hostel, dinner and phone card to start haranguing USAA and my parents. After I made it into the city, I found my very lovely and art-deco hostel (which the help of a delightful old man who taught me "danke" as "thanks"), paid with my precious euro bills and settled onto my hostel bed. At this point, the voice of Rick Steves popped into my head: "If you don't like the situation, change your attitude". Which is what I did. I put on my walking shoes and took a stroll around Amsterdam.
Amsterdam has this funky, sort of new-age feel to it. You can smell pot coming from every corner coffeeshop as bikes (with their own lanes and stoplights!) blow past you, usually faster than cars. The Hiawatha Line is also a predominant mode of transportation, with electric trams racing all over the city. But, for my arrival day, it was just me and my feet. I strolled along the canals, watching a Dutch fisherman reel in a big one; I waved at kids off to play soccer in their HUP HOLLAND orange jerseys; and I eventually found my way into a grocery store to scavenge for dinner. The residential parts of Amsterdam feel very different from my Red Light District hostel. It's almost suburban, and certainly less seedy.
After dinner (breads, cheeses, chocolate and meat, all next to a huge windmill), I began my return to the hostel. Thinking it would be a good time for a nap, I expected a quick trip, until I met The New Yorkers. This couple, who shall remain nameless because I never learned their names, were in search of "the Red Light District for real" and wanted company. Following the "yes and" theory of travel, I decided to tag along. Well, was I in for a surprise! This couple was interested in checking sites off the list, not actually trying to get a taste of them. There they were, tourists to the max, viewing Amsterdam from behind a camcorder. I bugged out after about a half hour, mostly because of exhaustion, but also because I couldn't take the tourist mentality anymore. I'm here to get a taste of real Amsterdam, not some display put up for the tourists. I went back to the hostel and crashed.
That evening, after more calls to USAA, I met Beck, a world traveler from Australia, who invited me for a stroll around the city. We walked for three hours, crisscrossing canals and getting a real late-night taste of Amsterdam. We bumped into neighborhood bars, families out having wine on their stoops, illuminated canals and quaint thoroughfares. That is my kind of tourism.
posted by Ethan at 2:26 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home