The Flying Lentil The log of Festina Lente, Sigma 38

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From Amsterdam in the rain

It is somewhat ironic that the finest old merchants houses in the very centre of Amsterdam now overlook tourism at its tackiest – especially at 0800 when the streets are  piled high with left over junk food from the night before. We were en route for the recently reopened Rijksmuseum , and determined to get there before the hordes , most of whom seemed to be eating enormous breakfasts in the really rather horrible bars and restaurants of the area round the station. Yet , veer off just a few streets to the West and Amsterdam reveals its other side –smart , cultured , sophisticated and friendly – so we thoroughly enjoyed our walk to be first at the museum gate.

Reader , we were far from first. 50% of the population of Japan had got there before us and flooded into the museum like a swarm of bees – or to be more precise , in the  random yet subtly organised movement  you might see in a  murmuration of starlings flying overhead their eventual roost. It was really very spooky ; they would wheel as one and flow over the floor to a Rembrandt , scattering all before them . At some undiscovered sign they would all approach one side of the painting , stand back and sigh, then minutely examine the other ,then raise their cameras in unison before turning en masse to devour a Vermeer.  I began to take notes for a paper entitled “Mass hysteria  and Loss  of Individuality induced by Dutch masters “ until I noticed they all had little earpieces , and slightly set back from the group was a Svengali like figure whispering into a microphone. All at once it stopped being spooky and was just irritating , until we realised they were all so short , even Lynda had an undisturbed view over their heads . Luckily , once clear of the central hall  and the really famous paintings , the crowds diminished somewhat and we were able to lose  ourselves to the serious business of seeing how it was to live in the Low Countries in the 16^th and 17^th centuries.  It was OK if you were a man it would seem – they looked as if they were having a fine old time , but it was about 1750 before you saw so much as a flicker of a smile on any women depicted therein.

After 4 hours we had covered less than a quarter of the place , but our eyes had glazed over , our feet hurt and our tummies were crying out for sustenance, so we fled. Its quite a jump from the seventeenth century to the 1970’s , but having filled our bellies we staggered randomly into a park and followed the masses ,all  pulled along by distant music  ( shades of the pied piper  – but wrong country!). The crowd led to an open air theatre surrounded by beer tents so we joined the rest of the 20 and 30 somethings (!) ,  dancing and jigging about to a band playing music from – you guessed it – the 70’s. By the time this came to an end we realised we had quite a long walk to get back to the boat – made all the longer by the fact that every street /canal has delightful cafes and bars to break the journey up into small pieces , so we got home pretty late!

Our feet still hurt the next day , so I was determined we would continue to explore by bike – it’s  what all the locals use – and what could be more pleasant than wheeling easily in and out of the canal side streets in the sunshine. Well , the one slight problem with this plan is that I had become too cocky about our weather predictions ,so  a small  low did a U turn and  parked above Amsterdam for a couple of days making it so soggy that it was difficult to distinguish which was road and which canal. The locals just carry on cycling , with an umbrella in one hand – and scarily , often talking into a mobile with the other! Undeterred we have thus spent two days soggily careering round the streets , usually totally lost ( maps turn to pulp in seconds!)and stopping every so often when the wet becomes too much ,to stock up on caffeine . Oh , and a cultural treat and meal out at the Bimhuis (a rather upmarket Jazz theatre) to hear a brilliant /thoroughly eccentric singer /pianist called Patricia Barber.

Yup , citys are fun , but rather hard on the wallet, feet and latterly bottoms ( hard saddles and cobbled streets) so its time to move on! Next stop the Ijselmeer – upwind in half a gale. Could be interesting!