Friday, May 17, 2013

Friday May 17- home again home again, jiggity jig


A very LARGE dinosaur skeleton in the Chicago airport

Breakfast at the hotel was overpriced (15 euro) and blah. I made my way back to the airport, suffered through the usual wait and got an Economy Plus seat for the eight-hour-plus to Chicago. I managed to sleep a little, which was good, as I was bumped three times in Chicago, and spent several hours wandering from gate to gate. This is the inevitable bad part of flying stand-by. Finally got a middle Economy seat in the back of a plane; exhausted, I told my friendly neighbor that I had to sleep. When I woke up, he had saved a can of soda for me. That sweet man--very married, two grown kids and a dedicated Mormon—spent the next several hours regaling me with bible passages on his iPhone. It’s not as ghastly as it sounds. He answered a lot of questions for me; for instance, the Mormons DO believe in the devil. Second, married couples can choose to go to the temple to be bound forever, beyond death. So widows and widowers can remarry, but it’s only for “this” lifetime, as the bound spouse will be waiting in the afterlife. Fascinating.


See more images of Sorrento, Pompeii and Herculaneum on my website gallery page

Thursday, May 16, 2013

Thursday, May 16 – Leiden, Netherlands


View of Leiden from my room at the Ibis Hotel

I flew back to the Amsterdam airport and got my luggage out of storage (bloody expensive, but worth it), then proceeded by train to the university town 20 minutes south of the airport: Leiden. I only wish it wasn’t cold and raining, as Leiden looks like an interesting place to explore, and may be a better base than Amsterdam. I stayed at a large and very corporate hotel, the Ibis—nice, simple and very clean room, with an incredible view of the town. I walked around in spite of the blustery weather; Netherlanders have perfected the art of riding a bicycle while holding an umbrella. Soaking wet, I passed up a Swedish place with fish dishes, and a pannekokken specialty restaurant to opt for a hole-in-the-wall place called Hot Wok. I had gone too many days without Chinese food; in this place, you chose your dish and the chef cooked it for you right there. It was heavenly.


See more images of Amsterdam and Italy on my website gallery page

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

May 15 - Wednesday - Naples=Delhi minus Bullock Poop


Pompeiian mosaic in Naples Archeological Museum.
Also depicts my expression at discovering my "sandwich surprise"

The Curreri Viaggi bus trip back was slower than the way in, due to a few more stops. The real surprise when I arrived was opening the tuna-tomato sandwich I bought at the Mayflower cafe in Sorrento to find it was actually a tomato-mayonaise sandwich. I wondered what took them so long! Apparently they ran out of tuna, but to make up for it, they made me two tomato and mayonaise sandwiches, all served on god-awful white bread, "english-style". Pretty funny--at least they made an effort to make it up to me, though I’d rather they just told me.

The distance between Sorrento and Naples might as well be an ocean instead of a bay, more like a continent apart. Naples streets are marked by scudding garbage, studded with groups of unemployed men of every ethnicity, and scarred by miles of graffiti, most of it promoting anarcy. Its an ugly city, with unhappy people who call you stupid to your face if you appear to be a foreigner. One woman clucked her tongue at me when she thought I was going to ignore the red “do not cross” light and pulled me back from the street. “English?” she said. “Sure,” I said. She snorted. In Naples, as everywhere else in Italy, crossing a busy street has more ro do with agility and timing than signals.
View from La Chiminee's roof garden. Rain improves the vista

I finally connected with la Chiminee hotel after multiple tries to call them on public phones from the airport--after much sturm und drang, got the people at the airport Information desk to call for me. I was instructed to wait by 'the lavatory" at the end of a row of trees outside the airport--I only figured out where I was supposed to be because another woman with luggage was standing there. It turns out I was instructed to wait by the “rondatory”—the round-about. There followed a wild ride in a private car with a fellow, Lido, who dropped me in front of the hotel.
La Chininee Business Hotel in Naples is an emerald set in plastic. The hotel is lovely--3 or 4 stars, and the restaurant--totally deserted when I got there at 7 (didn't open for dinner until 7:30—someone should tell the front desk) was quite good, considerably better than some places in Sorrento.
A more pleasant street scene from Pompeii in mosaic
The neighborhood is a rough one, and doesn't look like a future gentrification project--the wide dirty street is lined with tiny baby-goods shops, car repair places, a cafe full of locals, and empty storefronts--plus one street shrine to a local saint. Directly on top of, or behind the shops were multi-story--three or more--working class apartments in that blocky prolitariat style--row upon row of them, all with laundry flapping from every tiny balcony. On the street, girls in their late teens, often pregnant, were pushing strollers and/or leading toddlers by the hand. This was not a place for a pleasant stroll, as you were guaranteed to get stared at.

The tram downtown stopped right accross from the hotel, and with a little watchfulness, the stop at Plaza Garibaldi was made. Then came the real problem--where was the big station that was supposed to be there? A huge construction site on the left looked suspect. I folowed the crowd, and came upon an entrance a few blocks away, and after several enquiries--including one to a policeman who insisted on shaking my hand enthusiastically while puzzling over my question (all in the name of Anglo-Italian relations, I'm sure)--found the train and track. If I were writing a guidebook, I’d use some euphemism like "well-used" to describe the metro, but “nasty” sems to fill the bill. In all honesty, its not much different than New York, as that one is largely nasty too.

Made it to the first stop, walked up through the garbage-dotted park to the museum. That is the reason to go to Naples, if none other.
The mosaics were astounding, mostly from the House of the Faun, a mansion that covered a city block in Pompeii—I’m so glad I went to Herculaneum and Pompeii first, to have some idea of the layout and where these wondrous objects were. I can't describe their beauty in words--perfectly preserved, full of color and life, panel upon panel of animals, people, scenes in delicate detail. What must it have been like to chip away at centuries of hardened lava and ash to find these beauties underneath? The terrible and sudden death of the owners of these works brought us, centuries later, a window into life.
Well, hello there!
Two things disringuish the interests of Pompeiians: sex and food, in that order. Paintings depicting sex, penis-shaped pottery and sculpture, and eating and drinking utensils depicting figures with oversized penises are on carefully arranged display in the museum’s “Secret Room”. Visitors are assured that the erect penis was a sign of good luck, as if four-leaf-clovers are hung over every doorway and street sign nowadays! Apparently picture books of sexual positions were there for the amusement of guests at table. That, or porno has retained its popularity over the centuries, and the assumption that it was a daily and very much out-there interest is only that.




Many frescoes survived the disaster, their subjects the slightly more chaste versions of myth. The sculptures were incredible--often copies of Greek work, lifelike and detailed. Ther is nothing new under the sun.
Its interesting what we can or do deduce from the remains of the past. 



What would be the assumptions about me or you if part of our belongings were found intact--say just the kitchen, or bathroom, or bedroom?

Tomorrow, on to Amsterdam, to spend the night in Leiden. At least it will be very, very clean. I'm sorry to leave Sorrento, and Pisello and his dreams:


See more images of Sorrento, Pompeii and Herculaneum on my website gallery page


Tuesday, May 14, 2013

May 14 - Tuesday - Rick Steves at the Kebab Shop


Cathedral ceiling

I was at loose ends with what to do with myself today. I was sick to death of the Circumvesuviana train and didn't really want to travel anywhere so I chose to hang out. I decided to go to mass at the cathedral, as I wanted to get a look inside. I got there at 8:25AM, thinking there was a daily mass at half-past as posted, but nothing happened. I walked around and decided which saint I’d ask to intercede regarding the bout of blue lonlies that came upon me in the middle of the night (it only seems to happen in beautiful places, like Sorrento). That's the job of saints--they're go-betweens with influence. Then the bell rings and in walks the cardinal, all by himself--you can tell he was a cardinal by the red dress--and mass began. I didn't understand a word, but remembered well enough how it went from my childhood, and followed everyone else, up and down, kneeling and standing. I was really touched by his service and the way he held up the host (a thin bread wafer, for you non-Catholics) and wine--I could see that he really felt a transformation of the bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ.  It sounds horribly cannibalistic, but the idea is to become one with God, in imitation of the last supper.
"Magdalena" by Artemsia Tedelschi


After the service, I made an offering to Mary of Perpetual Mercy—she had her own little archway and fancy carved setting where she stood, life-size, embracing a little girl (so of course she would help me out). After, I wandered around town for a while and ended up at a somewhat funky museum with a nice garden and belvedere (a view out to sea). The museum was apparently the former home of some countess connected to the Grimaldis, and all her old artwork was on display. A lot of the paintings were so in need of restoration they were nearly black, but the clay figures of peasants in one display case was outstanding—full of emotion and expression.
Only nine inches tall, these figures are typical
of the intricate pieces many families collect
each year for their Christmas nativity scene.




I hung out in the garden, crossed the street to the lemon orchard, walked back into town--in the orchard, a lady was walking her very cute bunny, leashed with a chihuahua-sized harness. As I was making my way back to the hotel, a Sri Lankan man engaged me in conversation. He told me about his dream to open a hotel for tourists in a fancy new home he had bought (showed me pictures on his iPhone), and he was in Italy to work and make some money. He continued to chat me up, then suggested we pop into a nearby cafe to continue the conversation—that’s when I decided to take off. Maybe he was just lonely, missing the wife and son he said he left behind, or maybe he was hungry, as he hadn’t found work as yet. Who knows.

I first thought these were announcements of concerts
until I read them--they're public obituaries,
posted on boards all over town
Stopped in a cafe and spent time talking to a lovely couple from Minnesota. The wife confessed on the way out that the husband had injured himself severely in a motorcycle accident, whch ended their moto touring--they had traveled up Route 1 from San Francisco in the past, and had originally planned on touring the Amafi coast on motorcycles. She said, “after seeing how they drive here, I’m kind of glad we didn’t”. I couldn’t agree more. Driving in Italy is like roulette with large hunks of metal.

How cute are they! 
I came back and listened to a very long promo for a new age-y woman-empowerment seminar supposedly sent to me by a friend. A teensy bit of good info, a lot of jargon-based hype. Empowered, I decided to go out and get a pedicure. I went to a place nearby--it seems a lot of businesses in this town are owned by sisters, in this case, the Elegance Salon of Maria and Raffaela. It seemed like Raffela sanded a pound of dead skin off my feet--I didn t realize how crusty I truly was: All that hopping about dig sites in Pompeii and Herculaneum, not to mention the streets of Delhi and Jaipur, and the volcanic islands of the Galapagos.


How cute are THEY!
After, I popped down to the end of town and secured some more euros, just in case. On the way back, even though I had a ticket for a free drink courtesy of the pedicure sisters at a place called Bar Tiffany (it looked a little dangerous), I went for a falafel at the Kebab Shop--a tiny hole-in-the-wall on a street behind Corso Italo. Excellent kebabs and home-made pita, and pretty much the ONLY non-italian food in town.





Who should walk in but Rick Steves himself, with his Italian guide. I admire him: Rick Steves has managed to parlay a small set of self-written guidebooks into an empire. I went into schoolgirl mode and got all gushy, narrowly avoiding embarrassing myself and everyone else. I had my picture taken with him. Most of the time when you see someone like that, they're disappointingly short or creepy, but this guy was tall--over 6 feet, and a real sweetie. He was friendly, and it occured to me after (perfect timing) that he could probably use a little conversation with someone from home. Oh well.

The narrow alleys of Sorrento, early morning
See more images of Sorrento, Pompeii and Herculaneum on my website gallery page



Monday, May 13, 2013

Monday, May 13 - Pompeii


Pompeii's main square
Breakie at the hotel--a pretty good one, of which I shall make a habit. Then it’s on board the circum train for the bone-achingly long ride to Pompeii (it really wasn’t far, but the train stops at every tiny station on the line, stretching what would have been a half-hour ride into over an hour). I really didn't know if I wanted to make the effort to go to Pompeii, as I thought, "just more Herculaneum", but I was extremely glad when I got there. Spoke to a nice couple on the train--from Denver, where it was still winter when they left more than a week ago. They had gone to Amalfi, down the coast, and said it was terribly crowded and not much fun, so I scratched it off my list.

Vesuvius in the distance
Pompeii was and is an archeological wonder. Fantastic job of clearing centuries of hardened stone-like ash from a town that was smothered in a matter of hours 79 years after Jesus’ birth. This was a city--20,000 people wiped out just like that. The site is about twice or three times that of Herculaneum. The stone-paved streets still show the ruts from hundreds of chariot wheels.




Apparently the Pompeiians had no idea Vesuvio was a volcano, since it hadn't erupted in 1200-1500 years. A serious earthquake a few years prior to the 79AD eruption did some damage to the town's structures, and the repair work was left half-finished when buried in a mountain of ash. Much as I’d like to believe the official "instanteous death" line, the two plaster casts of the victims encased in glass in the market square do not look happy--they look in agony. I later found out they had died in the same way as the victims in the boathouses of Herculaneum: the pyroclastic flow swept over the town, causing suffocation. 

The first breath brought in superheated ash, which caused the lungs to fill with water. The second breath turned the inhaled ash to cement, and...there was no third breath, as the throat constricted and closed off the airways, so the citizens of Pompeii died very much like drowning victims.

Those ruts are from thousands of chariot wheels






Once again, I was astounded by Roman engineering, from the aquaduct and water system that flooded the streets every day to wash down the animal droppings to the large stones set in the roadways (conviently sized and spaced to accommodate passing chariots, all of which were built to the same specifications).


The famous faun (the original is in Naples) from the House of the Faun

On the return train, I was confounded by a stiuation. When the doors open to board the train, riders step into an empty entry compartment, and either go left or right to the compartments with seats. An older Chinese man and young girl had loaded on an enormous cart covered in plastic into the entry compartment, along with several large bags, also wrapped in plastic. When it came to their stop, they wrestled the cart off along with a couple of the smaller bags, and left the other large plastic bags on the train. Immediately my thoughts went to “bomb alert!”. As casually as possible, I moved away through the compartment to the next standing area (pa GAWK!—yes, I am a chicken)—which was also full of mysterious plastic bags. It was then I realized that people left their garbage on the train.

View of the harbor from Sorrento
Back to Sorrento after a full day, I ate at a perfectly terrible restaurant near the hotel--la felice. The calamari was adequate, but the service was impossible--I felt like the waiter was completely ignoring me. Wait, he WAS ignoring me, in favor of serving the Italian families first. No tip for him! I don’t recall how it was in Umbria or Rome the last time I was in Italy, but in Sorrento, you have to insist on paying people at the end of a meal; no one actually expects a tip and they seem genuinely surprised and grateful to get one. Quite charming.

See more images of Sorrento, Pompeii and Herculaneum on my website gallery page

Sunday, May 12, 2013

Sunday, May 12, Mother’s Day in the Ruins - Herculaneum


A Herculaneum fresco of Io and that randy shape-shifter, Zeus

Herculaneum, mid-way between Naples and Sorrento (the ruins are on the edge of a town, Ercola) is fronted by a beautiful public park, a six-block walk downhill from the train station. I took the Circumvesuviana train from Sorrento—crowded and dirty, it’s still the fastest way to get there. It was my plan to spend an hour or two at Herculaneum, then return to Pompeii (between Ercola and Sorrento) for the rest of the day on the way back. 



A delicate fresco in a bedroom
Herculaneum—a wealthy town much smaller than Pompeii with walking paths instead of chariot-wide streets--was hit by the volcanic gas cloud, ash and debris some hours after Pompeii, when the wind changed. Equally unprepared for the sudden onslaught of the six-mile high eruption of Vesuvius (ultimately releasing a hundred thousand times the thermal energy unfettered by the nuclear bomb the US dropped on Hiroshima, Japan at the end of WWII), many of the town’s inhabitants rushed to the sea to try to escape in boats; more than 300 skeletons were found in the boathouses on the shore. 


The people on the beach were overcome by superhot gas that cooked their internal organs instantly—those in the boathouses were not so lucky; the cloud of gas and ash--the pyroclastic flow—suffocated them.  I got the audioguide, and it was so good I ended up staying for four hours, and was completely worn out by sun and throroughly delighted by the wonderfully preserved ruins, the barking frogs in the pond that marked the former seashore, and the incredible mosaics in the women’s baths.




How about a snack at the Tasmanian Devil Panioteca?
Originally, I had planned to stay in Ercola, at the hotel across the street from the ruins. I stopped there for a fruit salad and freddo, a delciously sweet iced coffee with a milkshake-like consistancy (it’s pulverized ice, like a smoothie). The young waiter (with a black eye!) played on my sympathies by saying he worked two jobs and had no time to sleep—yes, I left a nice tip. I’m such a sucker. I’m glad I didn’t stay in Ercola, a working-class town that would have provided little of the excitement (and amazing views) of Sorrento. 

Graffitti outside a Circumvesuviana train station
On the crowded train back, I was standing, holding on to a post when I saw a young Italian woman, seated in the compartment on my left. She was pulling on her eye in a most peculiar way—tugging it into a slit. She continued to do it every time I glanced her way. When the train came to a stop, I wandered over there, and found an empty seat next to her; thanking her, I sat down. I later learned (thanks, Rick Steves!) that the eye-tugging meant to “watch out” or “pay attention”. I returned to the Marina Grande village and had dinner at the Five DiLeva sisters again. We were getting to be pals.

See more images of Sorrento, Pompeii and Herculaneum on my website gallery page


Saturday, May 11, 2013

Saturday May 11 - Amsterdam to Naples to Sorrento


Vesuvio on the way to Sorrento

I packed my back-pack with as many of the lighter-weight clothes I could stuff in and left my suitcase at luggage storage at the Amsterdam airport. An easy two-hour flight into what looked like a small airport followed (Naples airport is deceptive—it’s quite large); a tiny, stiff espresso at the counter powered me up for the half-hour wait for the Currieri Viaggi bus to Sorrento. During the wait, I sat on my back-pack, soaking in the sun, enjoying a 10 degree hike in temperature. The bus, modern and air-conditioned only cost 10 euros--the bargain of the century. The ride clung to the coast roads, and was absolutely spectacular. Tufa cliffs soar steeply from the sea, often 1000 feet or more. Homes, hotels and motley other structures are embedded into the cliffsides, cantilevered and precariously perched as if to dive in. This is earthquake country, and so much like home in some ways it’s reassuring.
Sorrento from above

Sorrento is Sausalito on steroids; the same sort of dwellings spill down into steep ravines, but many more of them. A lovely, lovely old town with narrow twisitng lava-stone cobble streets and archways, and likely a restaurant and shop per person. It’s crowded and commercial, yet never fails to be charming. Perhaps it’s the jewel-like setting.
My foresight in bringing only a backpack paid off when I got to the train station in Sorrento, where the bus dropped me off. The Hotel Ulisse was more than half-way across town, a good half-mile or more from the station. I got used to the walk, as I ended up doing it at least twice a day—thank goodness only twice with the heavily loaded backpack.

That night, I strolled on the narrow road from the Hotel Ulisse down to a little fishing village which is part of Sorrento and apart from it: Marina Grande. Dinner was  delicious; a perfectly cooked spaghetti pomodoro with fresh cherry tomatoes at the Five DiLeva Sisters restaurant (a tiny place with clear vinyl sheets for walls). 

The Five DiLeva Sisters





It was windy, but fun to watch the beautiful sunset and the people who live in this tiny village greet each other, the boats bob in the water, the stray cats search among the ropes and nets for morsels. 






A quiet evening in Marina Grande
When I returned to the hotel, I had planned to stay put; then I discovered that Sorrento had REALLY come alive. The town takes off after sunset, when it’s still warm and all the streets are lit, filled with tourists and regulars. I attended the main street passigiata, strolling the Corso Italo with everyone else, stopping by the peaceful convent of San Franchesco. I couldn't wait to explore more.





Courtyard of the convent of San Franchesco
See more images of Sorrento, Pompeii and Herculaneum on my website gallery page

Friday, May 10, 2013

Amsterdam Friday May 10 - Rijksmuseum



Rijksmuseum exterior
Stood in the freezing, windy line for the Rijksmuseum at 8:20AM this morning--waited until 9:20 to enter. Magnificent building, but the collection wasn't impressive. A few Vermeers, Rembrandts--the famous “Night Watch”--but altogether the offerings seemed sparse and the rooms very crowded. The high point of my visit was in the overpriced cafe where I sat across from two friends, one Dutch and one Brit, with whom I enjoyed a lively conversation. I learned the correct pronounciation of tot suis (essentially, “see you later”), but don’t ask--its not pronounced like its spelled. It seems the Amsterdam tourism bureau is doing a better job than the museums deserve. It makes me appreciate San Francisco all the more--we have some excellent works from all periods.
My favorite painting in the Rijksmuseum


After being clued in to the transit realities (she can be taught!), I hopped back on the #10 tram to Fredericksplein and walked a few blocks south to the Albert de Cuyp street market. Right away, I scored a universal adaptor for 5 euro that works here with the fat Dutch plugs. It was fun to walk around and check things out. The shoes were plastic--fake suede, horrible--and the scarves, clothing and material were all of the cheapest polyester. Netherland is not a fashion capital, that's for sure. Had my third herring sandwich, bones and all--I think I'm done with herring for a while. The fish at the marketstall was bright-eyed and firm-fleshed, and the produce looked strong and healthy too--a good place to cook your own.
Fish stall, de Cuyp market

I took the tram to Weesperplein and caught the Metro to Waterlooplein. I don't know what it is about this place, but I always get turned around. A couple of German tourists helped me out with their map and got me going in the right direction. I finaly found the bloody Rembrandthuis. I was shocked to see that I had walked right past it the day before without even noticing. It’s right down the street from the dreadful Argentenian restaurant with the privy soup-water. I did the short tour; my feet were killing me after days of abuse. Rembrandt evidently bought high, and the place bankrupted him; his financial woes were partly brought on by a mistress miffed that their years-long domestic arrangement didn't end in marriage. Serves him right, the old lech--he traded her in for a younger model. The most interesting part of the house was his collection room, filled with statuary and various specimens, reproduced exactly from the records used when the house was auctioned off.
Rembrandt looks somewhat confused in this early self-portrait

Made my way back to the metro courtesy of a very strong cup of coffee, and spent the trip back talking to four young, adorable christian evangelists. They did ask me if I knew god, and I told them we had met many times.
There was a market going on outside A’damsepoort, the shopping area next to the Hostelle--smaller scale, same junk, and a lot of paler faces rushing back from work and those silent office buildings. On the way back, I picked up a chicken leg and roast veges for dinner (excellent value --less than 5 euro, and really good quality)  at the deli next to Bakker Bart, where I picked up my morning sausage roll.
Tomorrow, I prep for Naples. 70 degrees and raining. How am I going to do this?
Bike lanes and bike parking lots--you gotta love this!

To see more of Amsterdam, go to the travel image page on my website: aboutjoannemiller.com

Thursday, May 9, 2013

Amsterdam, Thurs. May 9 – Van Gogh Go


For more of Vincent's work (we ARE on a first-name basis),
see my travel website images: aboutJoanneMiller.com

“Avoid the lines, purchase your ticket in advance” just isn’t true. I had a 9AM ticket entry (the first of the day), and I waited outside with 200 other people for more than 30 minutes. Then we were all admitted at once. Initially, it was really difficult to get near any of the paintings because there were so many people, but the way the new modern museum is laid out on several floors, visitors spread out in a few minutes.
I realized it’s not just the extraordinary colors and unique brushwork that draw me to Van Gogh (which the Dutch pronounce van hockh)—I actually had a crush on him, based on his many self-portraits. If I had met him in my younger days, I probably would have fallen for his intensity and manic energy and excused away the depression and pyschotic episodes as artistic temperment. One thing for sure: painting was his life. It’s sad that it enriches us, but made him a wandering pauper during his brief life. I wonder what he would think nowadays, as his face and work have become a brand to sell T-shirts and mouse pads. He’d probably cut off the other ear.

One of Vincent's experiment with pointillism
I planned to go to the Rijksmuseum in the afternoon, but even with my prepaid ticket, it was a three-hour wait (yes, three hours). I didn’t find out until later that May 9 is Ascension Day, a national holiday; locals and tourists were all vying for a spot. The city’s most famous museums surround a three-block long plaza called Museumplein (pronounced museum plane—Dutch translates fairly easily); a massive lunch place on Museumplein was full of merry, beer-swilling tourists. 



The Museumplein's block-long fountain
I opted instead for a hearty sandwich at a nearby cafe recomended to me by one of the museum guides: Vrolyk, on the corner of Hobbesmustraat and the canal, just down the street from the Rijksmuseum.

After lunch, I wandered around in circles, thinking I was moving towards the de Cuyp market in the section of town called di Pijp, and discovered that I ended up back at the Rijksmuseum at 2:15. The wait had dwindled to one hour. I decided to try again on Friday morning, since my ticket wasn’t for a particular time. I had bought a 48-hour chipkaart for the metro, which enabled me to ride anywhere on Metro transportation during that time period at no extra charge—a really good deal for $17.

Buildings near my hostel
                                                                                The architecture of Amsterdam is modern, creative, innovative. Of course, so much of the city suffered bombing in WWII that it rose almost from whole cloth in many areas. The layout is in a series of semi-circular canals fanning out from Central Station; I don’t think I’ve ever had so many opportunities to get lost.




Main Library interior


                                                                                It was too late to visit Rembrandt’s home, so I rode up to Cental Station and saw the incredible main library with a citywide view from the restaurant on the top floor. Then I wandered down to Waterlooplein, the old Jewish neighborhood, and walked around ...the streets were very crowded and the shops were interesting—a bit of hippie flair here and there, a hand-made candy shop, a few second-hand stores, and a few “coffee shops”—no, I didn’t sample the merchandise. I was already lost in Amsterdam. Not only is marijuana legal here, there were a wallful of herbal “trips”—legal chemical mixtures that mimic LSD, MDMA, and a lot of things that didn’t exist in my experimental days.
View from the top floor of the library

As I prepared to enter the Metro station, I realized my Metro chipkaart was gone right out of my pocket where I had put it when I began walking to the station. Fortunately, that was the only thing IN my pocket. I remembered getting bumped by a short man on one of the busy streets. Or, it could have fallen out when I was reaching for my camera, or when I went to the bathroom, but  I think I would have noticed...still, it was gone and I was upset, attached to the insignificant money value--about $7 left on the card—but really mad at myself for being careless. 


I ended up getting lost again, ate a a truly terrible Argentinian restauant (out of fish soup, she offered chicken soup of a sort...almost all broth and teensy pieces of chicken with tortilas).
I walked back to Central Station and bought a new 25-hour card that expired 7:30 Friday night. When I told the policeman at the station my pocket had been picked, he made a wry face, especially when I demonstrated the bumping part. He hears this all the time. I usually pride myself on how careful I am with things I don’t want to lose, and wouldn’t have even had the card in my pocket normally. Its a lession learned, pretty cheaply.

For more of Vincent's extraordinary work, see my travel website images: aboutJoanneMiller.com