The Netherlands: Amsterdam and the Keukenhof

[The last of my trip notes.]

April 26, 2011: the Keukenhof

"I'm on a boat!"

After another great breakfast up in our wheelhouse, watching the world go by (on bicycle, mostly), we head to the train station; it's deserted compared to yesterday, and we quickly purchase return tickets to Leiden. Once there, we get our coach tickets for the Keukenhof at the Travelex. [We thought there was no difference between going there via Leiden or Schiphol -- the distances are comparable -- but it turns out that you can get the latter as a single fare, and therefore save money; this isn't clear in any of the documentation.]

This is surely the Disney World of gardens! From the moment I hear, and then lay eyes on, the beautiful street organ near the entrance, I'm grinning from ear to ear. They call the park the most beautiful spring garden in the world, and it isn't hard to see why. Tea (and Kae) are over the moon: "best gardens, hands down," is out of her mouth half an hour in. And while I agree, the Lost Gardens of Heligan still hold a special place in my heart. I think it's the trees; somethin's changed with me since I've come over: I can't get enough of the different trees they have over here, and the cascading blooming you'll see from month to month. Don't get me wrong, though: this park is stunning.

I think the Japanese Garden is my favourite bit. It's so beautifully laid out, with many cherry blossoms, of course. While Tea and Kae really seem to be enjoying the orchid display, I know for Tea, it's all about the tulips -- of which there are many; go figure.

Gotta love the street art

Once back in Amsterdam, we decide to check out the Mexican restaurant, Guadalupe, that Tea spied on our first evening out. The owner is a real kidder, and before we've sat down, he and Kae strike up some Spanish banter. I don't pretend to follow it all, but I think he poked a bit of fun at one point when she used 'gran' to say that she learned some Spanish (or Portuguese?) from her grandfather. I heard something along the lines of, "Do you have a small father too? Oh, pity," around that cheese-eating grin of his. [If I've got this right, you could literally translate what Kae said as "big father," where they would typically say "abuelo"... maybe.] The food was really good too, breaking a long drought for Tea and me. [The Brits do not understand what Mexican is supposed to taste like, as far as I can tell.]

April 27, 2011: Our last day in Amsterdam

One of our many great suppers 'aboard'

A lazy morning. Anne Frank is growing up before my eyes (again). I forgot how heart-wrenching it is, to read about her wishes for the future. I certainly have a lot more context this time, having now walked the view she looked at with such longing.

The Van Gogh Museum is on the agenda this morning, so we buy tram day passes again -- it's well away from the city centre. Long queues seem to be the norm in Amsterdam, but, thanks to Kae, we can bypass the one outside this museum: she points out an English sign in the middle of the sidewalk, claiming that fast passes are available at the Diamond Museum. The funny thing is, you can see the Diamond Museum from the line, just down the road. We are there and back in five minutes -- you don't need to buy any extra admissions; it's just another till -- and then straight in.

Dessert at De Balie

I'm surprised by how much I'm enjoying myself. The layout is great: a good mix of his works and influences at various stages of his life. I'm not familiar with a lot of it. My favourites (on display) include: Crab on its Back, Pink Orchard, and the Sheep Shearer; the latter, a striking example of his influences.

From there, lunch at De Balie. Our waiter is another kidder.

Kae: "I had a teacher..."
Waiter, whip quick: "You did?"

The menu is in Dutch. For every second thing Tea points at:
Waiter: "I can't tell you that."

Handing him our near-sparkling cleaned plates:
Tea: "Oh, that was terrible. Can we see a dessert menu?"
Waiter, hand on chest: "No. You've been rude. On your bike and go."

And, again, the food is amazing; pesto to die for. They have lots of interesting beer on tap too. Enjoying my two glasses of Wieckse (pronounced 'vicks').

* * *

"In de Wildeman"

I'm sitting "In de Wildeman" now. Probably the best pub in Amsterdam. The ladies are shopping. Tasting notes so far:

• Blanche de Namur: tasty, with ginger notes.
• t'Volen Zeebonck: fruity and sweet, full body. (The bartender translates this as "sailor", puffing up his chest; love the way he serves me at the table.)
• De Prael De Melkman: a milk stout; very tasty, and just a touch sour. According to Beer Advocate, it was brewed for the 25^th anniversary of In de Wildeman. Cool! Got that T-shirt too; it's awesome.

If you only have time to visit one bar in Amsterdam, this has to be it. The ladies are back now. We're heading to the last one on my list: 't Arendsnest (or "Eagle's Nest"). It's a lovely little spot. Another friendly barman; runs a tab without my even asking. I have:

• Texelse Skuumkoppe: I've had their Wit as an imported selection with the (now defunct *sad face*) CAMRA Beer Club; this one has more body. Very nice. Followed by;
• De Prael Koude André: the same brewery as the milk stout, and just as impressive.

Cinema Paradiso

Italian is the consensus this evening. After striking out a few times, we find ourselves at Cinema Paradiso. As the name suggests, it's a old converted cinema with a lot of charm. The food is very good, and the real mint teas -- lots of mint leaves and hot water; that's it -- are a perfect end to one heck of a good trip.

Check out our Keukenhof and Amsterdam albums for more pictures from the last two days of our trip.

Stroud: Leonard in England

Since Saturday was supposed to be the nice day of the weekend, we made sure we were up somewhat early, and after picking up Matt, made our way to Stroud for their famous farmers' market: supposedly one of the best (the best?) in England. Once parked, we made our way to the nearby high street -- through the train station, I might add; guess how we'll be getting there next time -- Celtic notes filling the air. The Bucket Band was almost through a set, two little girls skipping 'round a little boy just in front of them, like something out of a Newfoundland tourism ad.

After picking up a CD, we wandered the market, taking in all the fabulous sights and smells. Even in the middle of winter, it was substantial. Can't wait to go back when more's in season. We bought olives and focaccia, and after sampling some sausages straight off the grill, a few packages for home -- cookin' them up as I type this, actually; they smell so good! (And I'm cookin' 'em up, too; look at me! *wink*) Plus, we got chatting to the chap from Warcop Brewery in South Wales, and Matt and I grabbed half a dozen of their stouts and porters between us; sounds like he's there year-round, so I know where to go if I like it.

Speaking of ale, we thought it'd be the perfect way to wash down our sausages and rest our feet. Tea's CAMRA app. told her the Queen Victoria was good choice nearby, so off we went. As we sat outside, enjoying our pints -- the excellent Cornish Mutiny for me, and Anastasia's Exile Stout for Matt; the latter's by Ascot Ales, which deserves special mention, as their Alligator Ale came in my most recent CAMRA Beer Club box, and it's excellent) -- a guy approached, asking whether we had any papers to spare, mistaking us for smokers.

He had more success inside, and came out to share a pint with us. As we chatted, he showed us a newsletter he'd just finished for an upcoming series called Lorca In England, celebrating the work of the Spanish poet, Federico García Lorca. The town has a rich history of supporting the arts, we soon discovered. He'd moved out from London 22 years ago, and fallen in love. He said that now, many of those artists make up the local business community, running coffee shops, pubs, etc. When he found out we were Canadians, he immediately gushed praise for Leonard Cohen, talking about how he's still writing verses for Hallelujah, his ordination as a Buddhist monk, and his bankruptcy. (Much of which was news to me, I have to be honest. Matt easily kept pace, though.) Before leaving, he recommended we check out the Golden Fleece, and hoped to see us there later.

Next on our list was the snowdrops in Colesbourne Park, but we'd passed through Painswick on the way to Stroud, and decided it was worth a stop coming back. After wandering the beautiful grounds of the Church of England parish church of Saint Mary -- with its literally fantastic yew trees -- we stopped for a bite to eat at the Royal Oak, enjoying the fruits of Stroud Brewery -- Budding and Tom Long, specifically -- two bowls of butternut squash soup and a burger between the three of us.

It isn't hard to see why Colesbourne Park is getting so much attention on local radio and television: the snowdrops were more than plentiful. Because of that, I think our later arrival, with an hour 'til closing, worked out really well: the crowds were dying down, and we still had plenty of light to take some great photographs. A great way to end the day.

Check out our Picasa album for more pictures from the day.

Day 3: Nymphenburg Palace and Dachau

Tea had read that breakfast at K+K is overpriced, especially considering that Café Kitchenette is just down the road. Well, it's hard to imagine how any hotel breakfast could compete with this quaint, warm, home away from home.

The owner is a gem; a fact that became apparent before drinks had been ordered, when, in response to Stephen's asking whether they served Coke Light, she emphatically replied, "No! Only good things here!" regaling us with tales of the good ol' days of something she referred to as 'afric coke'. [With the benefit of hindsight, she clearly said Afri-Cola.] Stephen switched his order to orange juice, so we never did set eyes on this elixir.

When asked for recommendations -- the menu, written in German, was a bit of a slog, even with the help of my pocket-size Getting By In German -- she speculated, "You want big breakfast? Eggs?" Satisfied with our eager nods, she said, "I'll bring out tray; then another tray."

Palace Nymphenburg

Shortly thereafter, we were presented with a three-storey centrepiece of delicious meats, including smoked salmon, prosciutto, and other cuts of ham and salami, olives, many varieties of hard and soft cheeses, melon, tart red berries we recognised but couldn't name, honey and jam, breads of all sorts, and, of course, hard-boiled eggs. By the time we packed that down, we were all getting rather full. It was at that point that she replaced our decimated tiers with a fresh one, much the same as the first, but with one of the layers replaced with dainty cups of sliced fruit topped with a ground cherry.

Delicious!

From there, it was on to Schloss (Castle, or, in this case, Palace) Nymphenburg. The great hall and all of King Ludwig's beauties were impressive -- the portraits of the latter struck me as photographs, such was their attention to lighting and detail -- but it was the English Garden that I enjoyed the most. And I loved how many local joggers there were who clearly felt the same way.

For the afternoon, we decided to head to the former concentration camp at Dachau [as it's closed on Mondays -- the next day -- and, at this point, we were thinking about spending one more day in Munich]. First, however, we stopped at the gasthaus of Würmtalhof pension for some lunch.

We were clearly the only tourists in the spot, but the owner's English, while limited, served her very well. We had a fantastic meal of various sorts of schnitzels, and then got back on the road to Dachau.

As we pulled into the parking lot, there was something about the young man posted at the simple wooden hut, in his stance, dress, and the way he waved us on with his cigarette, that was just so German, and, more importantly, military; it really set the tone for the visit.

We had a little over an hour before closing, which was still plenty of time to explore the museum and get a glimpse of what the camp's prisoners went through. Even without the pictures and commentary, standing in that vast pebbled square, surrounded by simple barracks, was enough to drag you down; down in ways that I might imagine as even worse than the physical restraints those poor people had to suffer.

"Never again" one of the plaques read. I hope so.

10:30 p.m.

We went out for Italian that evening -- Pizzeria Europa -- which felt like a little slice of said country to the south thanks to all its expat waiters. Ours was from Milan -- I think he was a bit offended when he learned we'd been to Rome, Florence, Pisa, Naples, Capri, the list goes on, but not there -- and while I couldn't comment on his German, I'd bet he rarely needs English -- which isn't a criticism, incidentally, but simply an observation on the EU in action.

Walking back to the hotel, I was feelin' no pain. While waiting outside for Stephen to grab a "bed-time Diet Coke" at the nearby McDonald's, a poster for a new burger distracted me -- it was called some four-digit number, and, upon deciding it couldn't be a year, I struggled to fathom its meaning.

Slowly it occurred to me that Tea was saying my name; at that point, I looked up, into the expectant face of a cyclist I can best describe as the German 'Bubbles'. Three, maybe four, seconds passed as we stared at one another; then, without uttering a word, he deliberately gave his bell a double ring, but made no other move. Still in a bit of a daze -- "The rest of the sidewalk's free, dude," hindsight says -- my body obeyed his command, stepping back, before my mind entirely grasped it. And so, off he went again, like he has a dozen of these encounters a day.

Up next: Salzburg, Austria

Bibury: sleepy wee lambs and a bit o' the sacrilege

Arlington Row in Bibury

We took it easy this morning -- havin' a lie in, as they'd say here -- listening to the area getting ready for the Gold Cup race week, and reading in the sunshine. I've just started The World According To Garp -- I save up Irving's novels as treats for myself, afraid to waste them by reading too many back to back -- and Tea must've read two or three books in the time it took me to finish Waterland.

After a big breakfast of bacon, eggs, beans -- the best part, according to Tea -- and toast, we set out for Bibury, one of the most beautiful towns in the Cotswolds, popular opinion has it. Well, it didn't disappoint, from the much-photographed cottages of Arlington Row to the fields filled with sleepy wee lambs.

The Keepers Arms

We'd planned to stop in Coln St. Aldwyn, at the halfway point of the walk, but got turned about and end up in Quenington. Well, The Keepers Arms soon fixed us up, with a pint of the 'sacrilege' -- half 'n' half of St. Austell's Tribute and Butcombe Bitter, a travesty in the eyes of CAMRA members I'm sure, hence its nickname -- and some fish 'n' chips. The bartender called us brave for sitting outside, 'til Tea told him we were Canadian, to which he replied, "Oh, it's tropical then." This set us up as the butt of a few jokes when we did eventually go inside to eat.

See why we get lost? :-)

We almost got lost (again) on the way back, coming upon the path we'd taken to Quenington. We thought about taking that 'safe' path back to Bibury, but in the end we backtracked to where we thought we'd gone wrong, and so got to take in a picturesque old mill and the Bibury Court Hotel beside it -- pictures really can't do that place justice.

Check out our Best of March 2010 album for more pictures from the day.

The Bibury Court Hotel

Snow drops and crocuses

Door lessons

Beautiful weather today: the sun shined throughout. Our initial plan to get out early and try the walk to work was delayed by some problems with the door locks; here's what I wrote just after James left:

As I type this, the pads of my girlie index fingers and thumbs are more sore than I care to admit, thanks to my many failed attempts at locking the back door. Luckily, James was just a phone call away, and by 10:30 a.m. our door lessons were complete. I use the plural because, unbeknownst to us, the front door, while incredibly simple to lock, is tricky to unlock (just the reverse of the back door, in other words). As James pointed out (with a smile), discovering that when we were stuck outside later in the day would've made for a much more entertaining phone call.

Happily, the third door that we were having a problem with -- honestly, it's like we don't have them in Canada -- also stumped James: the wardrobe simply wouldn't open. He kept fiddling with the key as we discussed other things, and then one particular heave worked; he suggested we leave it unlocked, and we heartily agreed.

Then it was out for some breakfast, followed by a walk to work. On the way, we discovered that they do have subways over here: that's their term for the underpasses that pedestrians and cyclists use to cross under roundabouts; they're very handy. We decided to walk back through the neighbourhoods of the St. Mark's area -- I was wrong when I said that our house was in that area; we passed the church of that name (on Church Street; imagine that) on our walk, and we were some distance from our place at that point -- and decided that it might make for a nicer walk or bike ride in the mornings than the main thoroughfare we'd gone out on.

Now, I was walking along, enjoying the tranquil beautiful of the streets -- note the picture to the right where Tea's just blurted out, "It's like Snow White's garden! The dwarves could live here!" -- and their impressive names (e.g., Shelley, Kipling, Tennyson, Shakespeare, etc.), when Tea points out that this could be considered a "dodgy area," given what some have told us. While initially I dismissed this as silliness, and I didn't for one minute feel uneasy, by the time we'd made it back to the train station I had counted half a dozen shirtless lads; many of them were driving around, and one was even being served in the convenience store. We probably won't spend too many evenings wandering those streets, but we both agreed that it'd make for a beautiful morning commute.

Next on our list was picking up some essentials (e.g., laundry detergent) at Waitrose. We walked along the Honeybourne Line again, and, feeling peckish, decided to eat in the store's cafeteria when we arrived. The meal of the day was a combination of a vegetable curry and a chicken jalfrezi with rice that was simply excellent! The bacon sandwiches seemed to be more popular, however, prompting Tea to comment, "Stephen would love it here!" -- We decided to qualify that statement later in the shop, however, noting the perfumed shoppers and utter lack of scent-free products. Be warned, my friend! ;-) -- Oh, and one final note about Waitrose: the cashier guessed we were Canadian -- she said my T-shirt was a give-away :-) -- which Tea was tickled about.

Once we got home -- Tuesday's forecast of heavy rain prompted my purchase to the right -- it was time to start the laundry, which naturally led to abandoning suitcase living. I only point out this minutia because it spurred a bit of a moment as we realized that the rather large house did not have -- well, by North American standards, anyway -- the commensurate closet and wardrobe space. We weathered the storm, however -- stiff upper lip 'n' all that -- and resolved to visit the topic again once our priority shipment arrives.

Note: if you're interested in seeing more of our pictures, I'll be updating my August album throughout the month.

Day 7

Gusto
Well, it was our last full day in Cheltenham. (Note that the posts will be erratic from here on out, as it's our last day of free Wi-Fi too.) We started out right at Gusto, with some fantastic tomato and chickpea soup, followed by anti-pasti trays. We'd bought coffee and a croissant from the shop on the ground floor earlier in the week, but the first floor is a restaurant onto itself -- incidentally, I regularly confuse their use of ground and first to describe first and second floors, even though we often have main and first floors at home; go figure -- with plenty of sunlight pouring in from windows on both sides. Tea particularly enjoyed the Teapigs loose tea bags.


Imperial Gardens
Then it was off to the shopping that Tea had queued up over a week of looking in the windows of closed shops -- Oh, we'll have to come back here on Saturday, she'd say. The town has a different feel on the weekend; particularly on such a sunny Saturday, no doubt: the park in front of the Queen's was full of people, as were the streets and shops.

Some of the shopping highlights included: House of Fraser -- which reminded me of Macy's -- with its £600 suits (no, I didn't buy, or even touch, one); Tea got a fabulous pink handbag (my approximation of what I think she'd write); and Waterstone's, where I got a copy of Seth's It's A Good Life, If You Don't Weaken; in one of those strange coincidences, I'd read a review of it in The Walrus a few weeks ago, and then, just the other day, I read that very line in Graham Greene's Brighton Rock. (I didn't realize that that's where the title came from.) Anyway, that was all the excuse I needed to pick it up.


Inside St Georges Vault
Tea also picked up some shoes at Jones Bootmaker, and admired the dresses in Primark. I ogled a beautiful Davley flask with collapsible shot glass, and then it was time for a break. We ended up at St Georges Vault, which, I have to say, was one of my favourite spots of the trip: the bartenders were really friendly, the locals were entertaining; it was the perfect spot to kick back with a couple of bitters -- we weren't surprised by them being at room temperature thanks to Holly :-) -- and play some cribbage. I won both games and was very reserved in victory, as the photo to the right indicates.


Shon Thong
They don't serve food at St Georges, so we headed out for some sustenance after our second game and round of pints. One of the few recommendations that we hadn't tried up to that point was the Thai restaurant, Shon Thong. We tracked it down without too much difficulty, and enjoyed a great meal that included both hot and sour soup, and green curry (again). Tea preferred the soup, curry and ambiance at Thai Emerald, and I would second two of those: I actually preferred the green curry at Shon Thong, by a nose.

Packing for the trip back to London was looming large in our minds at that point, so we started heading back to the apartment. On the way back to High Street, this terrific amount of yelling and squealing assailed our ears; we turned a corner to see a mob of pink and black undulating in the distance. I immediately started wandering in that direction, at which point Tea said, "Wrong way, Jae;" I was uncharacteristically witty with my, "No, I think this is the way," as I took a last look at the 'stagette' party moving toward us. We passed a group of lads and heard one of them muttering, "Scheisser," as he caught sight of what blocked his path. Godspeed, man.

One final note: it actually brought a lump to my throat to see flowers laid at the foot of the World War I memorial in front of the municipal buildings. It's one thing to see such a display in November, and quite another to see it in June. I really like this town. (If you are interested in looking at more photos from the day, check out our album.)