Amsterdam 3; Blog 2

I've been thinking about yesterday and how there were equal moments of stillness and motion. Well, sort of. I was told there was a swimming pool just across the street from where I’m staying. Had no idea what to expect, other than at best, it would be a nicer version of any YMCA I’d ever been to in New York. Far from it.

For 3 Euro 40: a watery dreamland.

But first, some comical cultural confusion. I should have known when the doors marked ‘Dames’ and 'Heren' were next to one another along a transparent wall. The Dames door lead me into what was a large and co-ed locker room. Unexpected, yes, but pretty smart. Families can walk in together and change in larger changing stalls together. But you could imagine the surprise as I walked into a bunch of men in their trunks and goggles in what I thought was the women’s changing room.

Anyhow. I digress. The lap pool was very pleasant – a much more orderly and aesthetic version of the McBurney Y on 14th St. Everyone in the pool was swimming in cooperative patterns without lane-lines and in the two marked lanes, it seemed to me that one lane was marked for breast-stroke and the other for freestyle. An interesting organizational tactic: stroke over speed. So I swam freestyle with one other guy (whose bald head couldn’t really hold his cap on so well) in fits and starts. Not having swam since July made my arms a little rubbery. During my 1200 meter toodle, I kept noticing people coming down a set of stairs. I couldn’t imagine what else there could be if I was in the swimming pool already.

So I took a trip up the stairs. And holy cow. Paradise Bay -- the real name of the floor in the complex. Water wings as far as the eye could see across the watery dreamland – and all in a public pool. What I saw before me was a large circular pool divided up by concrete islands with trees planted in them, water only a couple feet deep at it’s deepest. Families abound. Then out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a fellow walking up MORE stairs. To where? Up past the roofline. For what?
AN INDOOR WATERSLIDE. There was also a whirlpool with a current so strong I found myself hanging onto the railing for life – but that was just icing on the icing on the cake. Because once a buzzer sounded and I assumed that it was 10-minute break for the kiddos to rest, can you imagine my surprise when I looked up and saw

That the wave machine had been turned on.

And all of a sudden, the pool had been transformed into a tropical shoreline and the sea of families and waterwings were now undulating with glee.

They say the Dutch know water, and now I truly understand what that means.


After a trip back to the apartment for a shower and lunch (which continued my diet of bread, gouda, and mache) it was time to head into the city. For what I wasn’t sure, but I just knew I needed to get out and walk.

So I walked north along Rijn Straat to VanWout Straat towards centre city. I’m staying in what could be considered the Harlem of Amsterdam, but south rather than north. It’s an old Jewish neighborhood – Anne Frank’s house before they went into hiding is somewhere around the corner – full of apartments and schools and parks. Absolutely pleasant. Park Slope-ish but flat. Anyhow – it’s about a 20 minute walk to the center. As one gets closer, the streets narrow and the crowds increase exponentially. The difference of the start of the walk to the end was staggering. My walk had slowed to a crawl and I could barely see where I was going over the heads of the crowd.

Without trying, I found my way back to my favorite café from past visits: De Jaren – but kept going because I realized I was just a few blocks from the Droog shop. Last trip in April 2006, it hadn’t quite opened which was a heartbreaker as I’d spent a couple of hours trying to navigate to Neiuw Dolenstraat (just around the corner from where we stayed, Mom and Dad) specifically for it. Amsterdam’s a little like Venice in that way – trying to navigate to something in particular can be a maddening maze-like venture; and oftentimes, just wandering will bring you where you want to go much more easily.

Amsterdam’s also got an incredible culture of shop windows. I read somewhere that the Dutch keep their curtains open because of the cultural (Calvinist?) belief that open curtains = an honest, upright household; whereas closed curtains mean that something is being hidden. So I wonder if that belief, when mixed with the capitalist heritage, is what makes for such extraordinary displays. Look at me: amature anthropologist. I’ll try to keep it to a minimum.

Anyhow. The Droog store: like visiting old friends. The chair made from old clothes, the milk-bottle chandelier, the dresser made of drawers. There were a couple of new pieces too. Being amidst this type of thinking and these types of objects is why I wanted to come to the Netherlands to live for a spell. It’s a particular strain of wryly obvious problem-solving that seems to me to be uniquely dutch. I may revise that statement over the next couple of months. Just being there – and I know this is going to sound super high-school field trip – was completely inspiring. In fact, when I walked out, I had a flash of how to proceed with the project at the EKWC.

So I scooted over to De Jaren for a tea and to work in the sketch book. Results tk.

The walk home was also kind of stupendous. More shop windows – I found myself along Neiuw Speiglestraat which is apparently art and antique row (one of many, I’m sure) – my favorite might have been the enormous clipper ship where next door there was a man building wooden kayaks in a workshop. But what was great about the wander home is all of a sudden, I found the road leading me directly towards the Rijksmuseum – it’s closed for renovations, but it’s still a wonderfully imposing structure. I didn’t realize that from the right angle of approach, it sits because the sky was still a grayish white, but there was sunlight and warmth hitting edges and corners as it hadn’t yet since I arrived. Hopeful.

Enjoyed the crowds and congestion falling away on the walk south to Riverbuurt, where I am staying, as well as some errands and a Turkish snack of lambjun rolled up with salad and garlic sauce. Aye aye aye. Arrived back at Nick’s with a bottle of whiskey for him, a glass of wine for me, and plunked down to watch another episode of the Wire, Season 2. Thanks Jess and Greg.

Not a bad day at all.
Sure these posts will get shorter and shorter – I hear I’m in for some intense months of work.
But glad to share the minutae of at least one day abroad with you.