Life: Idiotropic

Interesting how things change. Two years ago I went to Amsterdam and couldn't get enough. It was absolutely magical to me then and I yearned for days when I could come to this city alone to sit on the corner of a canal bridge with a notebook and my camera to soak up the atmosphere then promising myself that it wouldn't be long 'til I saw it all again.

This morning I took the train to Amsterdam for the day and though it is still a city that I do love - a city where I could happily spend days walking, photographing, and observing from street corners, it's lost that initial magic. Now I've found other cities.

There are many parts of Amsterdam - busy parts and quiet parts... shopping and art... quiet views and crazy tourists... purity and obscenity. We began at the train station, impressive on it's own, but spewing throngs of tourists and business people alike from its doors in a mad dash to get somewhere, anywhere. And along the main street we pushed through in a rabid zig-zag past junk stores, a sex museum, and the masses of humanity stopping briefly for a flavorless sandwich to keep us going. There I saw a women I later (inspired by the art I saw) thought would make a beautiful painting... her wrinkled dark face wrapped in a colorful scarf. Dark layered clothing. And a stick she held tightly perched on her shoulder to carry her bags. I later saw her again at the train station as we were leaving. She was the same except for a single lavender mum she held in the same hand that held the dark broken stick. Interesting lady. I would have loved to hear her story.

From there we reached the large square where a sea monster and Darth Vador stood on pedestals in front of Madame Tussauds hoping for tourist's coins. Just behind that square and a beautiful shopping mall housed in what looks more like a castle, lies the canal ring - my favorite part of Amsterdam. The rest, really, is touristy shopping areas and museums... but the canal ring seems quieter to me. Quiet and serene - as long as you watch out for bicycles.

Winding slowly through the canal ring, peeking into bead shops and cheese shops, a bakery boasting a 50 year old recipe (funny to hear... 50 years isn't at all old - especially here), and a shop full of beer my husband would enjoy, we stopped here and there admiring windows, canals lined with houseboats, the blooms crawling up the sides of old crooked buildings, and the funny hooks up top that allow people to move large furniture items not up the narrow stairwells, but through the over sized windows.

Eventually, we made it to the museum quarter - today's destination of choice. I hadn't been before and my mom wanted to see the masters. We began at the Rijks - still undergoing renovations, the observable collection is smaller than it should be, but still impressive. Wow. The hand painted Delft ceramics are amazing. It's such a testament to the artist' ability to see such depth and texture created with using only layers of one color. Two large doll houses stood behind glass - one much taller than me with a step stool that would have allowed access to its rooms. They both had real silver and real Delft pottery - real linens and perfectly scaled furniture - all exact replication of their larger counterparts. The art itself interested me more than I'd expected. I love impressionist art. That is what generally moves me. Rembrandt is not a painter that I've ever enjoyed. But today, though the style isn't something that I would hang in my home, I was struck by the perfection in detail and texture that Rembrandt achieved. His fabrics and laces are so intricately done, it seems as if one should be able to reach out and touch them. The shading of the folds, the sheen of the satins, the delicate brocade patterns... all absolutely perfect.

In contrast to the high art inside was this rather chatty bubble blowing Brit, clad in a very heavy, shiny angel costume with his red lipstick and yellow teeth shining through his silver painted face. I took a photo and then he commented to the crowd that this was his job and if we are to take a photo, then do drop a coin in or he might starve. "Well, we don't want any scrawny angels, do we?" I said. And dropped a coin in his bucket giving me the freedom to be a little more obnoxious with my picture taking as I snapped a few more and a closeup as well. "Americans sure like to get their money's worth." Yes. I do.

From there, though hungry, we pressed on past a beautiful playground and small lake just a couple blocks away to the Van Gogh museum. Wow. Beautiful, touching, melancholy genius. This museum is done extraordinarily well, probably because it is able to focus solely on one artist. Set up with rooms sequentially placed in chronological order, the beginning of the room has the date period on the wall with a brief history of Van Gogh's life during that period and how that influenced his art. His early works, done in Holland, are unrecognizable as Van Gogh's without even a hint of the color and distinctive brush strokes that we see instantly as his. Those are dark - too dark. And not very pretty. Each room gets better, brighter, more fun, more recognizably him while his life and history get sadder, and he dies thinking himself a failure whose lost any talent he once had - that was the room with my two favorites - painted at a time he thought himself worthless. That struck me. There's a life lesson in that.

The other interesting thing was this - Millet had done a series of 5 paintings which Van Gogh copied. Not exact copies, of course, but he took the same sketches and did the same paintings in his own style. Two sat together on one wall - the same sketch, same subject, same placement withing the canvas, but such different styles and colors. One by Van Gogh. The other by Millet. Amazing. And how often are we discouraged to copy. But that is how we learn. So to see a master copying another master says something, I think.

Starving (or at least we thought we were starving), with feet quite in revolt by now, we quickly walked back towards the train station stopping for a delicious lunch and an unnecessary, but decadent cheesecake at a hotel restaurant in the canal district. YUM! Italian with a Dutch twist, my lasagna was not typical, not anything I would have expected, but also delicious. Surprisingly full of flavor. I wish I would have take notes then. It was sooo good, but I don't remember exactly what was in it.

See the reflection on the table? That was part of my view from my table... a beautiful old building with a wall plaque laid into the brick and geraniums overflowing from their box under the large white window just behind us.

The train ride there and back was extremely easy and fairly uneventful except for the children - Dutch and British - that rode near enough to us for us to hear and enjoy their antics. Mine were at home, so it was fun to hear others talking at those unreasonable loud child volumes knowing that they weren't mine and I didn't need to worry. They were cute though...

And then there's the Kiosk. A kiosk here is usually a small hut that serves snacks, drinks, and reading material for the ride. Usually they are place permanently at the train stations. This one sprouted legs. He wore a large "backpack" looking thing filled with coffee, a nozzle looping around to the front where he could reach it. The sign on the back showed drink and snack prices. Either side of the pack was a long stack of cups held like those at a water cooler. In front he wore a cooler just wide enough to allow him to walk down the aisles without knocking him over. It was full of snacks. And so our Kiosk with legs came up the aisle offering coffee and snacks to the passengers. Some got coffee. It was funny to see him pull out a cup, fill it with coffee, add the sugar or cream requested, and stand there in the aisle delicately stirring it with a stirring stick for an unusually long period before handing it to the customer. I would have loved to get a clear photo, but too often he was standing sideways facing a customer stirring and I felt way too obnoxious with fellow passengers watching this crazy tourist to snap one then. Just picture it... and don't forget the navy and orange blocked shirt that said "kiosk" in about 4 places.