The reasons why I like Amsterdam…

I came to Amsterdam for a week and ended up staying. It’s been five months now. It’s been a blast…mostly. At times it’s also been ridiculously lovely, at others ridiculously lonely and, well, there’s been many a time when it’s been just damn-right WEIRD. Here are the good things about being here...

1. I get to wake up every day to the sound of ducks quacking on the canal outside. My bedroom window directly overlooks the water and I see all sorts of things floating by (swans, wheelie bins and most recently, a cuddly lion). I arrived too late to experience this, but apparently a few years ago a dead Russian stowaway fell from a plane into the canal outside. As the plane came into Schiphol airport it dropped its landing gear and the unfortunate (frozen solid) Russian dropped with it. The sound of the ducks is a great improvement upon the sound of the Heathrow planes coming in to land in my previous place of residence – glamorous Hounslow).
2. I am the proud owner of a proper, old-fashioned Amsterdam bike. I love this bike. There is something deliciously Dutch about the way it creaks, shudders and refuses to stop despite frantic back-pedalling.. The bike is designed so that you sit bolt-upright with your elbows tucked in - a very comfortable position from which I view the city, ringing my bell when tourists stray into my path (what bliss to feel like someone who belongs here).
3. I really like Dutch men. This is, apparently, a totally weird thing to admit to in ex-pat circles. Almost all the ex-pats living here that I have spoken to tell me that they’re a) un-romantic b) look like their mothers dress them c) straight d) boring e) speak funny and f) dance like your dad at a wedding. I just think they’re sweet. What these critical ex-pats fail to see is that they a) are wonderfully tall b) have thighs like iron, capable of swiftly transporting you through the streets of Amsterdam whilst you’re perched on the back of their bikes c) don’t judge their importance based on what car they drive d) speak around 4 languages fluently without thinking and e) don’t spend too much time trying to be cool. What could be nicer than a man that knows he dances like your dad at a wedding but does it anyway? I’ll take the athletic frame of a Dutchman above the pot-bellied English physique any day. There’s also the plus-point of the fact that they can hold their beer (or at least they know when to stop drinking the beer to avoid ending up face down in the gutter alongside the British stag weekenders.)
4. I get to buy fresh mint leaves and big, round, doughy loaves of bread from the Turkish shop across the road. I then pop into the bakery for delicious nutty bread. The supermarket sells pickled herring and croissants in the foyer on a Saturday morning. My local market provides tempting displays of fresh fruit and flowers. The healthfood shop does some lovely organic things. I have rediscovered the art of local shopping, loading up my shopping bags (no wasteful free carrier bags here) with all sorts of goodies on a Saturday morning, then balancing them precariously on the handles of my bike as I head home to load up my little fridge.
5. I have become addicted to the three A’s… Appeltaart, Australian ice cream and Almond cookies. Just typing this is making me drool.
6. I get to cycle round Vondelpark on a sunny afternoon. This is always a great thing to do – you get the sound of ten different types of music drifting from various parts of the park and have to weave in and out of roller bladers, a hundred cyclists, tourists, and runners plus duck out of the way of flying frisbees. I take a picnic blanket, a book and a sandwich sometimes and spend a few blissful hours by the water under the shade of a willow. There are also free arts events throughout the summer in an open-air theatre. One weekend I joined a hoard of salsa dancers and wiggled my bum with the best of them in a group lesson.
7. The Tuchinski cinema – another one of my favourite haunts. It has a beautiful renovated Art Deco interior, comfy seats and a fantastic sound system. It’s also a good place for meeting Dutch men (see point no. 3 above).
8. The whole buying/giving flowers culture thing is lovely. The Dutch take flowers when they visit friends and it’s so much fun visiting the market to pick out the nicest ones. You can buy a fantastic bunch, have them wrapped with panache and have plenty of change from 10 Euro – a great improvement on the tatty bunches you end up buying from some garage forecourt in the UK.
9. I have rediscovered the joy of running and am gradually assembling a collection of tried and tested routes. This mostly involves getting completely lost (but hey.. this is good for the legs!). One time I managed to stray into the naturist area of a large park (my Dutch sign-reading skills are not great) only to see various naked male torsos popping up from behind hedges at various intervals like some strange alternative shooting range.
10. I meet people from all over the World on a daily basis. I love the hotch potch of accents, cultures, viewpoints and appearances. I have new friends and acquaintances from the Netherlands, Italy, Spain, France, Russia, Finland, Sweden, Denmark, Peru, Morocco, Ireland, Scotland, England, Mexico, Switzerland, Germany, Belgium (and I’m sure there are some I’ve missed out!). Everyone seems to have something to say and to share. I’m having to think about my own culture and what makes me ‘English’.
11. I’m learning to appreciate and value the fact that I have time and space. I spend a lot of time in my own company and on good days this can be thoroughly enjoyable (on bad days it can, admittedly, be lonely). I relish the time to write, read, listen to radio stations from around the world on the internet. The Dutch have a word .. ‘gezellig’ which is difficult to translate. It means a cozy, warm atmosphere. Sometimes I get that feeling here and it will be because of a simple little thing.
12. When you leave familiar surroundings you begin to notice the little details and become fascinated by them. There seems to be no end of quirky little happenings here. Some examples: the other night I got off the train and Zaandam smelled like chocolate. I sat opposite a man on the metro with a tame parrot on his shoulder who crawled under his armpit to rest. I came across a delicate-looking fair-haired man playing an old upright piano in the dark in Vondelpark one summer evening – he looked (and played) like an angel. I watched for ages as a junkie drew a tiny flower on a note pad
13. I have learned how to hitch a ride on the back of a bike whilst carrying both cake and flowers (although I have also fallen victim to the old ‘bike wheel caught in tram track’ scenario on three different occasions and have the bruises to prove it).
14. I have a strong feeling that there are quite a few more adventures to be had here!

And now the bad bits...


So that was the good stuff. Now read about a few minor catastrophies, niggles and gripes, just to add a little balance to this blog!

1. My apartment and its 'little quirks'

Ah... my apartment. Now don't get me wrong - I do like my apartment. I'd even go as far to say that it is gezellig. However, it has a few strange quirks. This is largely due to the fact that it was bought, renovated and re-decorated by Mad Max, my half-Dutch half-Italian landlord. His building skills are somewhat inconsistent, to put it mildly. First of all, the areas that have been extended out from the original building seem to have been constructed of chipboard so soundproofing is a bit of a problem. If my upstairs neighbours watch a film I can listen to the plot developing whilst sitting on the loo. One of Max's more effective skills is carpentry (he used to build boats) and he has made some furniture for the place, however he seemed to get his measurements a bit wrong. When you sit at the table to eat you have to reach upwards to grab your knives and forks (the table is at chest height). You need to use a pile of cushions in order to be able get to your food (I always feel like a four year old who has been allowed to sit at the grownups table for a special treat).

The electrics are also rather strange. If you switch on a combination of electric devices then the whole place is plunged into darkness. This usually comes mid-way through preparing a meal on our plug-in hob. While we're on the subject of the hob - this has been the source of endless frustrations. It's a bit like something you take camping with you and tends to burn everything you put on it. We don't have an oven (apparently this is normal in the Netherlands due to space restrictions). However, we are honoured to be in possession of a bathtub, something that is much-coveted here.

One day I returned from a walk to find the ceiling above the sitting room gushing with water. I rushed upstairs and discovered the source of the problem. Mad Max had been re-filling his waterbed but didn't have the right attachments. He decided that a garden hose and ductape would do the trick while he popped into the next room to watch TV.

2. The bathroom story (apologies to the several hundred of you that have already heard this one, but you've got to admit...it is a classic!)

Imagine the scenario. I have just moved into my apartment and am living alone in a strange city. My flatmate is due to arrive in a week but in the meantime it is just me. It is my second morning in the place and I get up very early for work and decide to test the lock on the bathroom door. Of course, the lock doesn't work (see no.1) and as I go to re-open the door the handle comes away in my hand. No problem, I think, I'll just fit in back on. The only flaw with this plan is that the handle has been put on backwards (see no 1.) and I am now holding the useless end with no visible means of escape. It is worth noting at this point that my bathroom has no windows and a very solid door (probably the only thing in my apartment that is solid... no. 1 again). I procede to attempt to lever the door open, run against the door several times until I bruise my shoulder (see no. 4) and then try to kick the door down but with no success. I assess the situation. Plus points... I have access to a toilet, running water and a mobile phone. Down side.... the mobile phone is on the wrong side of the locked door. I realise that no one knows where I live as I haven't got round to giving out my new Dutch address. If I fail to turn up at work no one will be able to contact me. If I fail to phone home they'll just think my mobile is playing up. By the time my flatmate moves in I'll have had to survive on soap and toothpaste to stay alive. Luckily Mad Max has a flat upstairs so I set about trying to wake him. I climb onto the edge of the bath and begin knocking on the ceiling with the door handle (at least it served some purpose). Time goes by and no matter how hard I knock I can't seem to wake him. Eventually (after what seems like hours) I hear noises upstairs. Max has woken up and is wondering why there's a hysterical English girl knocking on his floor. I shout up to him and explain my predicament and he goes to fetch his keys to my apartment. Unfortunately these keys won't open the door (I had left my keys in the inside of the door lock). He can't break a window because it would involve swimming in the canal to access it. Instead, he disappears upstairs and I hear a drilling sound. The next thing I know, I see sawdust coming from the ceiling and a hand appears through a newly created hole, holding a large screwdriver, which I take and use to open the door. All this occurs before 6.30am on a Tuesday morning. I now have a hole above my bathtub through which I can see Max's apartment (I have covered this over with a bit of paper, for obvious reasons...)

3. Adventures with the Dutch Language

Another source of amusement is my inability to make myself understood in Dutch. I begin lessons at the end of September but have up to now been relying on the self-teaching method. Unfortunately my pronounciation is so bad that when I try to speak in shops etc. people usually look at me like I've gone mad then reply in perfect English. This is not the best way to practice. I made a stab at trying to get a supermarket discount card one day and was sent to the cupboard where they store the boxes. I didn't want to lose face so picked one up and left. I have so far worn out the phrases 'Spreekt u Engels?' (Do you speak English?) and 'Mijn Nederlands is niet zo goed..' (My Dutch is rubbish). At least I'm trying and I'm told my gutteral sounds are coming along nicely...

4. Falling Over

For some strange reason I have developed a clumsy gene since moving here. I don't know what has triggered this, but I have a catalogue of bashes, bruises and scrapes that is slowly building up. I have fallen off bikes (bruised thighs) , walked into rowing machines (scar on shin), fallen flat on my face whilst running (scabby knees, shoulder and palms) and slid across a wet bathroom floor into the door frame (scar on my elbow). Luckily I now have health insurance (a process that took me four and a half months).

5. Romantic Near-Misses

Perhaps it's the scabs on my knees, my lack of finesse in the Dutch language or my tendency to get locked in bathrooms, who knows, but I seem to have had far more than my fair-share of bad luck/bad judgement/bad matches when it comes to the opposite sex out here. I shall omit names and details to protect the innocent but I'll give you one harmless example. There was the time that I wriggled out of a forthcoming blind date because during a telephone conversation the guy happened to mention that he would be wearing yellow trousers when we met. I challenge anyone to present me with with a context in which a 34 year old man could wear yellow trousers and carry it off. Except perhaps if he was a fireman (although, alas, I know he wasn't!).