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items tagged with bikes
Amsterdam for Americans
AMSTERDAM: LOVE THE CULTURE, BUT BEWARE THE BIKES
Watch out for the bicycles. Oh, and the scooters, too. To anyone dreaming of heading to Amsterdam, Holland’s epicenter of liberal values, liberal ladies and over-the-counter marijuana, this would be my primary piece of advice. No, seriously. Until you’ve stepped out onto the Amsterdam pavement, narrowly having your nose clipped off by a local as he or she sails by on a pastel-coloured cruiser, North Americans simply can’t comprehend the prevalence of the bicycle in this bustling overgrown village of around 700,000 people.
I learned this lesson mere moments after stepping out of Amsterdam’s Centraal station, a short 15 minute train ride from Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport. Walking from the station doors out into the summer sunshine, I’m immediately immersed in the Amsterdam vibe. Families laughing. Bicycles gliding. Small boats floating leisurely through the canals as trams whisk by, competing with bicycles to see which can give unsuspecting tourists a bigger fright.
And at that moment, I’m not paying enough attention. While admiring the architecture of a building to my left a bicycle approaches from the right, bell jingling a terse warning. Narrowly I jump back, lesson learned.
Amidst it all I manage to purchase a tram ticket and make my way to the Museumplein area of Amsterdam, about a 20 minute tram journey from the storied Red Light District. After checking into my hotel, I make my way to the Leidseplein area for a bite to eat. The streets are filled with locals, tourists, merchants and performers, and I take it all in from the window of the small restaurant.
Walking back along a canal toward my hotel, I take a moment to watch the locals as they whisk past me on their bikes. Overprotective North American ideals surrounding safety are unheard of here; no one, and I mean no one sports a helmet. Teenage boys carry smiling girls on their handlebars, as business types keep one hand on the handlebars and one hand on a BlackBerry. And then there are the baskets. Each bike has a basket attached to the front handlebars, or behind the seat; in some cases, both. And the Dutch seem to carry everything in these baskets; fresh flowers, baguettes, clothing – I even spot a small puppy riding shotgun on a pink cruiser.
Removed from the bustling Red Light District the stillness of night sets in early in the Museumplein, and the streets are hushed by 10 p.m.
The following morning I find myself eating a bagel at a café – yes, café, not coffeeshop – and sipping a fantastic mug of frothy cappuccino. Across the narrow street are a number of buildings, meticulous architecture dating back to well before Calgary was more than a buffalo breeding ground. I’m partway through my breakfast when a thirty-something man strolls in, laptop in hand – and a shaggy dog at his feet. He orders a bagel and a beverage and starts tapping away at his keyboard. No one comments on the dog now curled up under the café table. It seems to go with an overall attitude of “hey, whatever works!” that permeates every street and alley in this city.
Breakfast finished I make my way to the Van Gogh Museum, getting in line for the Colours of the Night temporary exhibition featuring some of the Dutch painter’s best-known works. Inspired by dusk and twilight, the collection includes The Potato Eaters and, most notably, Starry Night, temporarily on loan from its permanent home at New York City’s Museum of Modern Art.
On the second level of the museum a small exhibit featuring Van Gogh’s letters, reference materials and artifacts welcomes visitors, the deep violet walls adding to the overall nocturnal theme. Etched on the wall is one of Van Gogh’s famous quotes, from a letter to his brother Theodore:
“Looking at the stars always makes me dream. Why, I ask myself, shouldn’t the shining dots of the sky be as accessible as the black dots on the map of France? Just as we take the train to get to Tarascon or Rouen, we take death to reach a star.”
Slightly chilled I make my way back out into the Amsterdam sunshine, and sit atop a hill in the middle of Museumplein overlooking the famous Concertgebouw music hall (said to have some of the best acoustics in all of Europe).
Couples stroll hand in hand. A man running a snack stand comes out to water a small plant, a wooden shoe for a planter. KLM Royal Dutch planes soar overhead, leaving white trails against the otherwise clear blue sky.
Forget the marijuana-scented coffeeshops. Forget the alluring windows in the Red Light District. This, right here, is Amsterdam.
by Amanda Preece
AMSTERDAM: LOVE THE CULTURE, BUT BEWARE THE BIKES
Watch out for the bicycles. Oh, and the scooters, too. To anyone dreaming of heading to Amsterdam, Holland’s epicenter of liberal values, liberal ladies and over-the-counter marijuana, this would be my primary piece of advice. No, seriously. Until you’ve stepped out onto the Amsterdam pavement, narrowly having your nose clipped off by a local as he or she sails by on a pastel-coloured cruiser, North Americans simply can’t comprehend the prevalence of the bicycle in this bustling overgrown village of around 700,000 people.I learned this lesson mere moments after stepping out of Amsterdam’s Centraal station, a short 15 minute train ride from Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport. Walking from the station doors out into the summer sunshine, I’m immediately immersed in the Amsterdam vibe. Families laughing. Bicycles gliding. Small boats floating leisurely through the canals as trams whisk by, competing with bicycles to see which can give unsuspecting tourists a bigger fright.
And at that moment, I’m not paying enough attention. While admiring the architecture of a building to my left a bicycle approaches from the right, bell jingling a terse warning. Narrowly I jump back, lesson learned.
Amidst it all I manage to purchase a tram ticket and make my way to the Museumplein area of Amsterdam, about a 20 minute tram journey from the storied Red Light District. After checking into my hotel, I make my way to the Leidseplein area for a bite to eat. The streets are filled with locals, tourists, merchants and performers, and I take it all in from the window of the small restaurant.Walking back along a canal toward my hotel, I take a moment to watch the locals as they whisk past me on their bikes. Overprotective North American ideals surrounding safety are unheard of here; no one, and I mean no one sports a helmet. Teenage boys carry smiling girls on their handlebars, as business types keep one hand on the handlebars and one hand on a BlackBerry. And then there are the baskets. Each bike has a basket attached to the front handlebars, or behind the seat; in some cases, both. And the Dutch seem to carry everything in these baskets; fresh flowers, baguettes, clothing – I even spot a small puppy riding shotgun on a pink cruiser.
Removed from the bustling Red Light District the stillness of night sets in early in the Museumplein, and the streets are hushed by 10 p.m.The following morning I find myself eating a bagel at a café – yes, café, not coffeeshop – and sipping a fantastic mug of frothy cappuccino. Across the narrow street are a number of buildings, meticulous architecture dating back to well before Calgary was more than a buffalo breeding ground. I’m partway through my breakfast when a thirty-something man strolls in, laptop in hand – and a shaggy dog at his feet. He orders a bagel and a beverage and starts tapping away at his keyboard. No one comments on the dog now curled up under the café table. It seems to go with an overall attitude of “hey, whatever works!” that permeates every street and alley in this city.
Breakfast finished I make my way to the Van Gogh Museum, getting in line for the Colours of the Night temporary exhibition featuring some of the Dutch painter’s best-known works. Inspired by dusk and twilight, the collection includes The Potato Eaters and, most notably, Starry Night, temporarily on loan from its permanent home at New York City’s Museum of Modern Art.
On the second level of the museum a small exhibit featuring Van Gogh’s letters, reference materials and artifacts welcomes visitors, the deep violet walls adding to the overall nocturnal theme. Etched on the wall is one of Van Gogh’s famous quotes, from a letter to his brother Theodore:
“Looking at the stars always makes me dream. Why, I ask myself, shouldn’t the shining dots of the sky be as accessible as the black dots on the map of France? Just as we take the train to get to Tarascon or Rouen, we take death to reach a star.”
Slightly chilled I make my way back out into the Amsterdam sunshine, and sit atop a hill in the middle of Museumplein overlooking the famous Concertgebouw music hall (said to have some of the best acoustics in all of Europe).
Couples stroll hand in hand. A man running a snack stand comes out to water a small plant, a wooden shoe for a planter. KLM Royal Dutch planes soar overhead, leaving white trails against the otherwise clear blue sky.
Forget the marijuana-scented coffeeshops. Forget the alluring windows in the Red Light District. This, right here, is Amsterdam.
by Amanda Preece
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