The day starts with an early morning departure from Sara's (or the Hylton, as I've taken to calling it in my head) - I'm talking 3:30 in the a.m. here, people. Upon our arrival at the Liverpool Street Station, we discover that it is locked. We also discover that it is freezing. It is early and it is freezing, and the station does not appear to open for another half an hour. Brilliant. We make small talk with a Brit on his way to somewhere that I can't recall and then finally get let into the station (which is also freezing). We make our way over to the automatic ticket machine, but find that they are busted; this is not good, because our train leaves at 4:10 and we are rapidly running out of time.
Trying all of the other kiosks proved fruitless, and Candace was forced to go and get help from the information desk, which gave us handwritten tickets (which were never actually colle
cted from us, so I suppose we could have saved some change there). The nice lady also informed us that the 4:10 bus had been cancelled and we would have to take the 4:40. Annoying, but not too bad, since it was about 4:15 at the time, so we probably would have missed the first train anyway. Candace decides to go up to the McD's and get some breakfast, while I guard the stuff. After about 10 mins, I start to get antsy because the train has pulled into the station...I guess this look translated to approximately 'omg', because the security guard came over and asked me if I was alright. We chatted until Candace came back with her Chicken nuggets, breakfast not being available until 6am.
Following an uneventful train ride, we make it to the hostel with minimal problems, except that we were on very little sleep (I got about 2 hours or so). We arrived at the hostel, and I immediately didn't like the cut of its gib. Too loud, too many people,
just not my scene. Candace and I, we are the Don Cherry of travellers - we like our fellow travellers to be white Canadians only (juuuust kiiiidding). Ah well, whatever. We checked in (quite the lengthy process, I might add), then decided to go out to the Van Gogh museum, which was across town. After eating more McD's, and sampling their version of mayo for fry-dipping (a weird melange of mustard, relish, and mayo), we went to the museum. Boring. Holy crap - badly laid out and not enough historical information about the man himself; although, that might have just been because part of it was closed off for construction. We left the museum and began to make our way to the National Monument so that we could meet up with a free walking tour of the city. Unfortch, Candace's ankle was in agony, so she headed back to the hostel while I went on the tour.
The tour itself was great, lots of good information and places to see (public urinals, whaaaat?). I saw The Dutch East India
Company (now a part of a university), the skinniest house in Amsterdam, the hidden Church, an former women's prison, the street on which Rembrandt lived (and which was home to many of the Jewish people who were killed during WWII), a whole other bunch of old buildings and churches with an intense amount of information behind them. However, it was cold as Hel (a Norse version of hell that is blindingly cold rather than unbearably hot). Like, by the end of the 3+ hours, I was freezing to the point where I thought I would never get warm again. The tour ended, and I unfurled my map to make my way home efficiently. 30 minutes later, I actually get back to the hostel (having become lost on no less than 3 occasions). Turns out that Amsterdam is a series of unmarked roadways and winding streets that end and begin with no real rhyme or reason. Additionally, the map off of which I was working did not include all the streets, which would have been a helpful tidbit to know.
Back at the hostel, Candace's ankle is feeling much better, so we decide to leave for Anne Frank House. At this point, it's about 6 pm and we have half an hour to find the place. 'No problem' thinks I, since I had been there on the tour. Alas, we showed up at 6:35 and were denied admittance, as, although the museum closes at 7, the last party is allowed in at 6:30. Dude at the desk saw us waving and kind of flicked his fingers in the universal gesture for 'Go away, useless peasants'. So that sucked. It was basically the one thing I really wanted to do in Amsterdam, and this jackass is gonna be THAT GUY. Le sigh.
On the plus side, we found this wicked cool Indian restaurant on the way back to the hostel and had some delish chicken korma. It was soooo goooooood. Almost made up for the freezing agony of the rest of the day. We wander back out into the cold to find a coffeeshop, and end up in the 420 cafe with a few other patrons. We purchase and consume our supplies, then it's back out into the cold to finally get back to the hostel.
Once we get to the hostel, we find that my favourite kind of music, techno, is being pumped at rather loud levels throughout the bar area and, subsequently, the rest of the building. No worries, it's expected. We go back to our room and find Kirk (note: might not be his real name, I can't remember if it was Kurt or Kirk, and I'm going with the more Star Trek-y of the two) there, another traveller from Canada whom we had met previously in the day (who? whom? whatever). We chatted for a bit until I decided that I was going to die if I didn't go to sleep omgrightnow, so I did. I slept pretty well actually, although the procedure to leave the hostel was a bit awkward since it was so early. We had to skulk out of there like rapists in the night.
So, that was Amsterdam. It was cold, it was long, it was disappointing, but it was totally worth the trip. Even though all the houses look the same and the people there are sort of dicks, I'm glad I got to see it. Maybe next time we'll stay in a hotel, though. And skip the art and go right to the Holocaust. And try to keep my blog in the same tense all the way through. Lessons learned, people, lessons learned.
Nanoo nanoo, bitches!
KDu
p.s. Candace is asleep right now - I envy her the ability to fall asleep like 5 minutes after laying down her head. It is a skill I admire in her only slightly more than her ability to turn every statement into some sort of dirty joke. She is one classy lady.
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