In Amsterdam you might venture into an establishment advertised as a coffee house seeking that morning cup of Joe, you might soon realize that they do offer coffee, espresso and assorted teas. But beware of the pastries. In Amsterdam the primary function of a “Coffee House” is the selling and consumption of various forms of legal cannabis to be consumed inside or to take away. With names like Grey Area Coffee Shop, Coffee Shop Happy Feelings and the aptly named The House of Skunk, along with the aroma on the street, it doesn’t take long to figure out that you actually need to find a Cafe for a simple cup of coffee and a pastry that won’t send you to Wonderland. We stopped by a nearby shop with a colorful sign and decorations, The Pelican, not sure what they were offering because the sign provided no further description. We quickly realized that this was actually another coffee shop. It was an interesting place, colorfully decorated inside but we casually made our way to the exit once we realized it was a coffee house and not a cafe, thanks but no thanks.
Later, during our cruise, our guide in Cologne jokingly mentioned that he could tell we began our cruise in Amsterdam because he recognized the herbal perfume from the group. If you saw them it was very unlikely that what he was referring to applied to this group of mostly seniors. He also talked about the crazed bicyclists or as he called them, the Psycholists of Amsterdam and how they might give you the respect of a warning bell after they almost ran you over.
Tickets to the Anne Frank house and museum are very hard to come by. You have to jump on the web site at precisely 9:00 PM, 3:00 AM our time and hope your internet connection is sufficient to direct you to purchase two of the scarce number of tickets allotted each day. I knew Janet was interested and was relieved that she just wanted to visit the site without going in. It was a a nice walk from our hotel made better with some very good gelato along the way. I was expecting the house to blend modestly into the neighborhood and was surprised to find that the actual house is now enclosed inside glass walls not to be seen from the street. There was a large crowd of mostly young women and girls waiting patiently in line for their brief allotted time to be allowed inside. We dropped into a nice Protestant church next door with a gift shop, a snack bar and a massive organ with elegant gilded pipes running up the front wall. They offered a thirty minute organ recital soon to begin but knowing we couldn’t leave before the finale, we discreetly slipped out and to back to our hotel.
It was a beautiful day as we walked the streets. We ducked into a vintage clothing store where I found a nice sleeveless travel vest like one that I had considered purchasing on line and made the buy. As we stepped outside, I noticed a small shop across the street selling Pastel Nata which is a very small traditional Portuguese pastry that I had previously read about. I went inside to buy one of the tiny egg cream tarts with a crispy crust and was told they were only sold in pairs so I ordered one vanilla and a blueberry. I asked if the owner was from Portugal which he was and we had a nice chat about our trip to Portugal years ago. I relayed how we had been enticed by our dear friends with their tales of traveling Europe and specifically Portugal, how we had arrived in Lisbon and had taken a ferry the next day to catch a train south to the Algarve region to join up without the benefit of a cell phone for communication or navigation. We had a prearranged point where we were to depart from the train but there were no announcements or even station signs on the platforms we stopped at to let folks on and off. Finally we made our best guess and jumped off only to imagine we might have made the wrong stop. Then the train pulled away and there sat Scott and Judy, looking dejected, sure we had missed our stop and then relieved to see us. I was eager to share our memories with the shop keeper of a small Lagos bar late into the night with beer and pork bifana sandwiches, of wood grilled Chicken Gia, grilled sardines and goat meat and fresh regional wine at an unnamed beach restaurant and the beauty and drama of the point where the Mediterranean meets the Atlantic, but he wanted to share his recommendations of an area south of Lisbon should we decide to return.
By the time we hot to our hotel it was time to check out and find our river port so we packed up checked out and ordered an Uber which took us to what turned out to be the wrong stop. We went inside and found a man at a counter. “Viking?” I declared as we approached. I was summarily embarrassed by his reaction, “Is that how you greet?” I instantly realized my mistake in not beginning with a greeting…Bonjour in France is mandatory when entering an establishment before attending to the business at hand. In Amsterdam “Hallo” is appropriate. I apologized for my faux pais, borne out of frustration from our current misadventure. He accepted my apology and was very nice. We had arrived at the wrong port and he gave is a map with directions to our destination to show our next
driver. We stepped outside to wait for the next Uber that I arranged and sat on a bench outside a Subway sandwich sho. To ease our frustration we enjoyed the tiny, delicious pastels that we had purchased earlier. At the dock we were greeted warmly and shown our room to settle in and get ready for our prearranged canal cruise after dinner.
The cruise was pleasant with glasses of Spanish Cava, wine and cheese tastings. The canal boat was operated by three young men who reminded us of our own grandsons. The information and numerous corny anecdotes made the leisurely cruise a delight as saw the sites and sounds of the city from that vantage in the glow of the setting sun. Afterward, we settled in, unpacked and got ready for bed as our ship, the Viking Annar, sailed off toward Kinderkirjk at 11:30.
