Girv Goes Dutch

I need to be on a plane at 9am tomorrow morning, and unless I take a nap will have to be up and on my feet, first packing up my room for the big trip North on a Monday, then duty managing LIPA’s youth theatre antics all evening, pushy parents and all.

I decided that the best way to tire myself out was to head out on another of Mike’s bike tours. This mornings adventure, setting off at 11am from the garage, was a 22km country trip.

Heading straight out of town it was amazing to see quite how quickly this city turns into completely green countryside. Heading out along the Amstel canal and river the trip took in a trip to a farm just off the dyke which both made its own cheese and carved its own clogs. This tourist trap, 4 coaches came and went whilst we were chilling out in the sun and going round the tour, was a nice little stop off and I don’t think there was a single party amongst us who didn’t pick up something from the creative offerings in the giftshop.

The rest of the tour weaved its ways through the dykes and canals cut in arable land around town. As small as the city centre of Amsterdam is, most things seem walkable within about 20 minutes of each other, there is an increadible amount of parkland on the outskirts. We passed through a massive park just on the edge of town which was something like 400 hectares, containing both an olympic rowing lake and playing home to a massive music festival every summer.

The tour again lasted even longer than advertised, with our guide Pete, a Dutch Canadian being just as informative and entertaining as Stuart who led another group around the countyside tour.

When I left the bike garage and made my way along the road for some lunch, I grabbed a quick bite at a non descript restaraunt at the end of the street. Having a French family sit down next to me, I can now confirm, no one does moody tweenager better than the French. The daughter, who cannot have been much older than 13 or 14 did an increadibly good petted lip, complaining loudly at her parents. I don’t speak French, or pretend to, but as the waitress was sent away three times before being allowed to come and take the food order, at which point the mother looked at menu, strugged and made the most French facial expression ever as if to say, “there is nothing on this menu that I want to eat,” before the parents each got a beer and watched their daughter eat what was a very mediocre hamburger. I hope she thought all of her teenage angst was worth it.

Walking away from my lunch I was truly confused that it had managed to reach 4pm. I abandonded any plans I had of visiting the Van Gogh museum today and instead decided to continue reading and find a good spot to hunker down and watch the Netherlands v Cameroon game. I’ve ended up on the Eisleplats, a bar covered corner of the city which seems to act as the cultural centre of sorts. It’s from there I’m writing this, sitting in an Irish pub, enjoying the banter, European beer and the Dutch brass band who seem to have been appointed official supplier of atmosphere.

The square is a fantastic focal point for the Dutch, it’s a proper party atmosphere, brass band and all with just about everyone here wearing something orange. I think everyone would be into football if they got this much of a party with the game, not the normal loutishness we in the UK (England) normally expect to accompany ball sports.

I’m sure no matter which way the match goes it’ll be an enjoyable evening. Hopefully enough Dubble beers, combined with my 22km cycle will mean I get some sleep before my flight in the morning.

I have managed to develop a stonking cold. It makes sense, I spent so long towards the end of studying not looking after myself, end of my time at LIPA doing more drinking than I had managed in the three years previous, and my trip to Amsterdam has caused me to come to a stop. I deserve a cold really. Waking up hacking and coughing, a continually nose and a congested throat which has done a great job of attracting very strange looks from American tourists when I say I am originally from Scotland. Hopefully on my flight home tomorrow I’ll be able to share it with everyone although knowing the circulated air on planes, that’s probably where I originally picked this one up.

I was hoping to be able to write at the end of the week about the way that my Primark sunglasses were the best £2 I had ever spent, how they had been thrown into my bag and drawn out without complaint day after day and how I would never go away worrying about breaking or loosing expensive sun glasses ever again. Then I pulled them out of my jacket’s inner pocket this afternoon to find that one of the legs, one of the entriely metal legs, had broken in half. No bending or anything, just snapped in half. You get what you pay for.

This post was written and edited using nothing but my iPhone whilst on holiday in Amsterdam. For a week I kept a daily blog, experimenting with creating web content on the move. You can read my thoughts on the experience in this blog post.

I escaped the hostel this morning, and my new roommates, espousing at great length and volume about the wonders of what an Amsterdam stripper can do with a banana, and made my way up to the Concertgebouw for their free Wednesday lunchtime concert. One of my roomies commented that I was having perhaps a slightly more cultured trip than them. I think he might have been right.

As warned by my bike tour guide, the core of their audience did appear to be the well healed retired ladies of Amsterdam but they looked around them, like the staff, apparently bemused at the number of tourists joining them.

The performance was given in the small concert hall or Klein Zaal, a beautiful concert room, fully seated with a small balcony. I was both amazed and impressed at the apparent lack of staff intervention into the entire process. The box office was not open as the event was unticketed. The old ladies of Amsterdam instead simply jossled and elbowed their way past us tourists on the way into the hall, which did not appear to be stewarded.

The concert itself was a nice collection of pieces from Ravel and Schumann performed by two young ensembles from the Prins Claus Conservatorium Groningen.

I made my way from the concert hall, back across the front of the Vodelpark, to the Theatre Bellvue. The majority of the International Theatre Schools Festival only really kicks off once I have left, the programme having had its opening night last night, and I was particularly dissapointed that all of the musical theatre is scheduled from Saturday onwards. I booked a ticket for a performance of a co-production between Maastricht and Manchester University called I’ll Be Gone, the only piece performed in English with a performance time which suited.

I filled my afternoon with a wander around the suburbs of the Old Jewish Quarter, sitting in a cafe to crack open Seth Godin’s latest book, Linchpin.

Having a few hours to spare, the Dutch football being on and dominating the middle of town, I decided to go on the Heineken Experience.

Combining a tour of the old Heineken brewery in the centre of the city with galleries of company memorabilia the experience was part educational, part entertainment and part indocrenation into the Heineken brand. The highlight of the tour has got to be the 4D “we brew you” ride where you follow the brewing process from the beer’s perspective, guided through the kettles and casks all the way to the bottling plant and the club beyond.

Much in the same way that the UK has adopted the curry as its unofficial national dish, the intercultural bonds having been formed through colonialism, so the Dutch have Indonesian food as their take away ans restaraunt dish of choice. I tried some take away Indonesian for tea tonight, sitting on the edge of a canal to consume my purchase. I was increadibly grateful to the very patient Dutch girl who sold it to me, I was not only struggling with the intrecacies of a Dutch/English menu and shop signage but also having absolutely no idea of what any of the dish name were or how to pronounce them. I finished off my traditional Dutch feast with another Dutch favourite, the waffle which I picked up from a bakery on the way to the theatre.

The peformance the Maastricht and Manchester students presented is with was an interesting piece of performance art. Working with a large greenhouse centre stage four male and one female actors created some really nice images, blending increasingly abstract pictures of fallen angels and the apocolypse. Their use of projection was nice, with the piece’s blurb talking of the directors wish to experiment with actors replaced by virtual counterparts. There was also some really nice use of lighting and minipulation of the set. Having sprayed the entire back and front walls of the greenhouse completely in paint the team both lit it inventively and created writings and abstract pictures in it through more physical theatre.

The performance was slightly let down through its apparent quest for narrative. Throughout the piece contained Voiceover from texts written by the cast neither these short monologues nor the musical choices seemed to be original, and although the project had obviously brought together actors and theatre makers from across Europe the voice that the combined voice that they chose to expess came across as cliched in places and confused in others.

In a post show discussion, thankfully conducted in English, the cast said that during their 8 week development and production process they had studied films of an apocolyptic genre, maybe that’s where the tired lines and notions came from, someone elses notions of the end of the world. The other area of interest from the post show Q&A was the notion that the Manchester students worked in a contemporary theatre setting, seeing their European partners more as performance artists. Maybe this was where the narrative attachment came from, with events on stage apparently attached to times and places in the voiceover, sometimes confusingly chopping and changing from a linnear progression along the timeline.

This post was written and edited using nothing but my iPhone whilst on holiday in Amsterdam. For a week I kept a daily blog, experimenting with creating web content on the move. You can read my thoughts on the experience in this blog post.

I managed to wake up surprisingly late today. I’m going to put that down to there being only one other occupied bed in my room at the hostel, and my last pint (0,5l) of Heineken being consumed well past 1am.

Someone said to me before I came away, “you can’t have a relaxing trip to Amsterdam.” I suspect the person involved has never ventured far from the Old Centre, apart perhaps for an adventure to an out of the way Coffee Shop.

A relaxing time is exactly what I was striving, and at the monent have managed to achieve. This morning I set off to explore the Jordaan, the laberinth of streets to the west of the city, built for the working classes at the city’s expansion. It was an area reccomended by Mike’s guide as was indeed well worth a wander. I discovered small squares between buildings filled with plants and seats, bakeries serving increadibly fresh and tasty produce and cafe bars filled with locals, all in the shadow of their overbearing but simplistic protestant church.

I made a point of wandering around the Jordaan, taking which ever turn looked like it had the most interesting thing at the end of it, until late into the afternoon and turn made my way up town to the Anne Frank Haus.

Taking the advice of every tour guide and guide book ever written, I was not going to try and tackle this in the middle of the day. My wait to get in was around 10 minutes at 4pm and there was none of the cattle herding warned about by the guidebooks. This short wait pales in comparison to the waits I have encountered outside some Roman attractions so there was nothing to complain about.

The Ann Frank Haus has been very thoughtfully restored, taking advantage of the building next door as its visitors centre. The tour itself both brings home the horrors of the acts of the Nazis against the Jewish people and really brings to life the conditions underwhich the Franks survived for 2 years. The Annex part of the tour, where the Franks actually lived, is kept as it would have been when they were in hiding, in complete darkness apart from artificial light. Having come in from the bright sunlight it was striking how much the blackout curtains immediately depress, it certainly reinforced, even in the now empty rooms, how little space, light and freedom the Franks had until they were betrayed.

Going round the Ann Frank Haus was a moving experience, with Otto Franks message of peace and an end to religious hate of all kinds being the lasting message from the experience. I left with a copy of Anne’s diary, as I have never read it in it’s entirety, through an increadibly tastefully done gift shop / bookstore. Anne’s diary is available in 70 languages and I am sure most could be found there.

Heading back into town I embarked on a theatrical adventure. This might have been a craving for a busman’s holiday, or more a want to get an experience out of Amsterdam truly different from my pot pilgrim friends.

The Ticket Shop next to the American Hotel is a treasure trove of cultural activities. Containing box offices for both the Amsterdam Festival programme, theatres and concert halls around the city and a half price box office for today’s selected performances this small collection of outlets in the foyer of the city’s main venue puts all British offerings I am aware of to shame. Not only were all of the staff able to converse in perfect English, as I have encountered in most places I have been, but they went out of their way to offer advice and be helpful on events and venues, even if they did not sell tickets for the event directly. Edinburgh, London and a mulitude of other British cities could do well to copy the best bits of this model, with multilingual staff in a central location showcasing the city’s cultural offering.

This evening’s excersion was to Boom Chicago, an English language comedy and cabaret bar, to be reviewed in another post. I also discovered the International Theatre School festival in town when I ventured into the Ticket Shop.

I’m not quite sure how much I’ve spoken about bikes in these posts. Due to lack of wifi, the only free places I’ve managed to find being my hostel and the Hard Rock Cafe next to the Vondelpark, they tend to lay in draft for the duration of the day with me adding bits and pieces as I go.

I’m sold on the idea of bikes as a means of trasporting a city. Having zipped around on one yesterday I think I have become a more respectful pedestrian, something those who know me at home will struggle to believe. The difference is, you can’t normally hear the bike which is going to knock into you when you cross without looking.

The Amsterdammers today, flying past me on their bikes made me quite jealous, they sometimes manage to come across as a city full of tall, beautiful cyclists. Would a change of road laws or cabbies attitutes empower the cyclist so in London? I’m not sure, but it would not be a bad thing of it did. The bikes here seem the dominant mode of transport, with guidebooks and tourguides advising that the road laws here somewhere between “common sense” and, should there be an accident between a car and a bike, the car is automatically considered guilty.

I found my own way home tonight from the theatre, something I was quite proud of as I followed my nose. I don’t mind if the way to have a good break in Amsterdam is to get up every morning and leave the Old Centre. The thing which gets me the most about the red light district is not that they will try and charge you €2.50 for half a litre of bottled water, it’s that they do it in fluent English with an increadibly welcoming smile.

This post was written and edited using nothing but my iPhone whilst on holiday in Amsterdam. For a week I kept a daily blog, experimenting with creating web content on the move. You can read my thoughts on the experience in this blog post.

I came on holiday to escape Liverpool, discover a city and also to read. I bought quite a few books before coming back to Liverpool after Christmas but never quite got round to reading them, the final couple of terms at LIPA providing a good distraction. I’m very pleased to say that Amsterdam is providing me great time and space to read and write, even having decided to leave my MacBook at home and travel light.

The first thing I did this morning was escape the Old Centre of town, home to my hostel, the red light district and every tourist in the Netherlands. Walking out towards the Vondelpark I found a completely different city to the one I was in last night. The red light district and surrounding streets are like an adult urban Disneyland, apparenty detached from the real world around them. As a place where weed and prostitution are legal the Old Centre appears to attract tourists primarily for that reason.

The red light district pretty much does what it says on the tin. A collection of streets and alleyways lined with glass fronted doors, women posing behind them lit in red. As the tourist books had led me to believe, these women were suprisingly attractive, many looking like they had stepped out of a magazine centrefold. Walking through the streets didn’t do much for me apart from make me feel awkward. Like most men walking through the district, I had windows rapped to attract my attention and doors opened a crack with words of encouragement to get me inside. Needless to say I didn’t feel the need to explore any further, but I certainly did see other men negotiating prices or slipping quickly out of doorways. There were multicultural groups of all ages making their way round the canal banks with me, highlighting just how much of a tourist attraction these streets really are. To quote one of the Americans I am sharing a hostel room with “this place is surreal.”

Amsterdam beyond the touristy centre is a city criss-crossed by canals and trams with bikes everywhere. There are collections of them against every lamp post and around the base of every tree. I am also amazed at the variety of vehicles, with everything from basic city cycles to elaborate contraptions for transporting dogs, children and goods in.

I had a fantastic breakfast at the Homemade cafe at Singel 447 with great coffee and a selection of increadible sandwiches and wraps. Venturing out into the sunny streets I made my way up to the Vondelpark. Surrounded by trees, grass and water features this is a breath of fresh air in the centre of the city. The areas around it, originally built by the merchant class, are filled with striking brick buildings containing homes, hotels, embassies, exclusive businesses and up market shops.

[It is at this point last night that the second half of my post was eaten by my wordpress app crashing! Second time lucky.]

Having spent the rest of my lunchtime in a quite corner of the Vondelpark I was amazed at the number and variety of bikes which power this city. From the most basic commuter’s bike up to increadible contraptions for transporting cargo, dogs or children. I was tempted to sit on a bench and photo them as they all went past but there were too Many to choose from.

Later in the afternoon, I decided to pay someone to help me explore the city. I joined a Mike’s Bike City Tour and spent a great three hours nipping around the city with a very entertaining guide who was originally from Preston.

As well as being informative and entertaining I really got my barings around the middle of the city. Our trip finished with a trip to the Eastern docks and a very tasty pint from a microbrewery in a windmill.

Having been promised the opportunity to make friends on Mike’s website I got chatting with a couple of other guys who were also travelling Amsterdam solo, an Australian called Geoff in his late 20’s travelling Europe between working holidays and an American called Joe in his late 40’s how had managed to add a few days in Amsterdam to a business trip from Washington, DC.

With Geoff and Joe I managed to experience my first Coffee Shop, the dissapointing Brazil v Hondurez game with some very tasty Brown Beer, and my introduction to Vietnamese cooking. All in all a great evening. Such is the way with such travelling companions we parted ways later in the evening knowing nothing but first names (or only second in my case) and made our ways off to our respetive accomodation.

I saw a truly different side of Amsterdam yesterday and am really beginning to see what it is that people rave about. Mike’s bike tour really contextualised the modern city against its turbulent 800 year history and i’m beginning to see a little bit more why this city is like it is.

This post was written and edited using nothing but my iPhone whilst on holiday in Amsterdam. For a week I kept a daily blog, experimenting with creating web content on the move. You can read my thoughts on the experience in this blog post.

Everything has been a bit quiet around here for a while. The only excuse I can give you is that I had to hand in my dissertation at the beginning of the month and have been stringing together front of house gigs since. I have certainly had call to write blog posts, the world has continued to throw up issues around me: the older women actors’ discrimination claims going being voiced on a European stage, the West End domination of the Tony’s, the Edinburgh Fringe programme launching last week and the concept of how we judge success in the arts, a topic I examined for my dissertation, but each topic has remained unexamined in this forum to date.

Having a week between two front of house shifts, I decided to raid the EasyJet website for a city break which would let me escape on Sunday and get back into the country in time to shepard youth theatre kids around the building on Friday night. The EasyJet flight schedule from Liverpool chose Amsterdam for me. I thought for a change, having found myself in a strange city alone for the first time I would tell you my story. I am going to be writing far more regularly now I have finished the academic portion of my life, my new job at Whatsonstage.com playing a major part of it, so I thought I would share some thought from my iPhone.

Having spent what felt like 3,000 hours at John Lennon International Airport (I know, you couldn’t write this stuff) and having lived through the increadible poor showing on the part of humanity and human nature that is flight by budget airline, I found myself in Amsterdam’s Schipol Airport.

Having only transfered here once as a child, I’d forgotten quite how large the place is. Having escaped my overly orange flying death tube I made my way into the terminal and tried to find the exit. Having turned their airport into a giant shopping centre, however the Dutch don’t seem to want you to escape. I followed signs for baggage reclaim for a bit, in spite of not having any bags to collect, hoping that I would find a door there and eventually escaped into daylight.

It’s hard to miss the trains into the city centre as you exit the airport and as advertised the ticket into town is only €3.80. The most obvious button which the ticket machine presents you with having selected English for the transaction is a €6 “comfort class” ticket however and a bit of digital navigation is required to get the cheapest ticket. I also had to pay an extra €1 for paying with a credit card, my VISA not being liked by the machine and the cash machines I tried being out of order.

The trip into the city by train shows Amsterdam as collection of uninspiring blocks of flats. You are immediately struck by how flat the entire country is, with the train tracks raised above the streets and canals below, there are no distant rolling hills to give perspective.

Coming out of Centraal Station onto the Damrak my first impression was how grey everything was. The weather probably didn’t help, but everything from the sky, buildings and canals appeared to be grey and slightly hostile. The main street itself is a collection of touristy shops, arcades and low quality restaraunts. It really does remind you how lucky Edinburgh is as a city to have its visitors come up the ramp at Waverley and be standing opposite Princes Street Gardens and one of the most famous castles in the world. As a city, Edinburgh should do everything in its power to ensure the first thing visitors find is high quality retail and food when they enter the city, not the plasticy tourist trap it could quickly become.

This city really is a smoker’s paradise. Staying in the Bulldog hostel, above a cafe, not only is the ability to smoke in doors a complete change to what I’m used to, but entire streets seem to smell of weed.

I’ve settled into my room at the hostel, had some tea in the bar downstairs and am not the world’s biggest World Cup fan so, now that its dark I’m going to go and see what all of the fuss around the red light district is about, it’s only a couple of streets over.

This post was written and edited using nothing but my iPhone whilst on holiday in Amsterdam. For a week I kept a daily blog, experimenting with creating web content on the move. You can read my thoughts on the experience in this blog post.