Today Erica and I walked all over Amsterdam. To begin with, as is ceremony in all lowland countries, we ate big helpings of Belgian Waffles smothered in hot maple syrup and powdered sugar. Not the healthiest breakfast, but one that was sure to keep us going through the morning. First stop was Vincent Van Gogh's museum. Twelve euros, but worth every cent. His entire life work had been preserved and put on display for the world, and it was absolutely interesting. Everything from his early work, the drab still-lifes painted with all the hues of brown and black, to his colorful and vibrant portraits and flower paintings were there in chronological order. It was a sight to see, and definitely a recommendation to anyone stopping into Amsterdam for a day or two.
We then strolled to Ann Frank's house, which was... how should I say this?... boring. We didn't go in because the line stretched out the door and around the block. I found myself looking at my sister and asking: do you want to see this? And her yawning: no, not particularly. I know that sounds terrible because what she did was incredible and heroic, but we had other things to do and time was running out, so we skipped it, that's all, we skipped it. I don't have any regret, and your judgement is worthless because I don't care what you think. It's a museum for God's sake, not a funeral. Instead we strolled through Old Town and the Red Light District, (which for you innocent readers among us is the area in the city where well-to-do gentlemen can partake in the age old activity of prostitution... Sorry, but it had to come out at some point... (that's what she said.)) This, as you can see, was our more pressing priority and one of the reasons we didn't see the Ann Frank museum, but again your judgement falls on deaf ears. It was during the day, so there weren't any women in the windows, but boy could I imagine them. There also were an unnatural amount of sex toy shops. I caught myself asking, "what sort of city needs all of these sex shops?" Apparently Amsterdam does.
After, we walked to Rembrandts house, which was as disappointing as Ann Franks house. I guess I'm not one for looking at the outside of a building where someone lived who did some really cool thing a hundred years ago. I blame the American in me for that one. We followed our noses to a Coffeeshop and stuck our heads in. The walls were lined with every strand you could imagine, and even I, a non-smoker, could appreciate the selection. We followed our noses again to the infamous Flowermarket where rows and rows of venders lined the streets and sold their precious tulips. They had every color, some I never thought possibile to infuse into a flower. I mean black? How do you make a black flower? Water it with oil?
We then went to a smartshop, which isn't what it sounds like. A smartshop in Amsterdam, don't be fooled, is a place where marijuana growers can buy new seeds for their pots and also equipment to streamline their operation. They also sell mushrooms, pipes, bongs and various smoker culture memorabilia. My sister bought a ring to replace the one I had broken in Berlin, but surprisingly held off on any major illicit purchases. We then left and rested near Rembrandts statue, where a guy got ticketed for public urination, (what! you can't pee in public in this city?!? Gah, how lame!) We then had lunch at a place called Wok to Walk, which was nothing to write home about.
After the rest of our tour, which was too boring to recount here, it was time to wash up at the hostel and grab some dinner. We ate at an Irish Pub, but left before drinking too much. We were both exhausted from the day's marching, and nothing sounded better than our pillows and blankets. So for the second night we konked out before 12am, and I've got to say it was some of the best sleep I've ever gotten.
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