City of Bicycles

I think the Dutch word for “Amsterdam” is City of Bicycles”.

Everyone in Amsterdam rides a bike. A million bikes in a city of 800 thousand. Men, women, boys, girls, grandmas, geezers, punks, Goths, moms with toddlers, workmen with lumber, even a priest… and no one, not a single one wears a helmet. They favor style over potential brain damage.  But in their defense, they have terrific hair. Long flowing curly locks (men and women) mostly blond except for the Indonesians, who have not yet assimilated enough to go blond. Crossing streets and designated bike lanes on foot can be a life threatening  experience.

These are not very nice bikes. Mostly one speeds with wide saddles and rusty bread racks over the rear fender and everything from a milk crate to a wheel barrow between the handlebars. Thousands line the streets in long ragged lines, tethered to bike racks that occupy every street. I am told by my cycling friends in Colorado that in the US, bikes go for several thousand dollars. Not one of the bikes on the street in Amsterdam is worth more than fifty bucks. So, I assume no one steals a clunker bike in Amsterdam. And if they did steal one of these rust buckets, no one would bother to report it.

The next thing to report is the canals. They are everywhere.  On the flight into the city, all the fields are bright green, perfectly rectangular and each has a water filled ditch on the perimeter. On the drive into the city, we cross a canal every few hundred yards. The canals have house boats docked along the quays and live-aboards are common. Cruise boats offer trips to see the city from the water.  The city has figured out how to keep the water level constant with the rise and fall of the tides. Ingenious!  

Our hotel room overlooks a canal and we see cruisers passing by frequently. We are staying in the Nine Streets district in the center of the old city. All the streets and sidewalks are brick or stone.  Not a chain store to be seen, but many quant small shops, bars and restaurants. The potential for retail shopping is unfettered. And the Euro is trading at 93 cents to the dollar. I may have to sedate Susan.

It seems off putting to describe the Ann Frank House as a tourist attraction, but there it is. Ann Frank was the girl whose family and friends remained hidden in the attic of her father’s business to prevent the Nazis from capturing them and taking them to the death camps. Eight people lived in the building for over two years before they were finally captured and all but her father died in the camps. She wrote the diary of a young girl that has since been published in 70 languages. The premises they occupied has been faithfully restored and visitors view them along with the narrative of the living conditions. A line of visitors was about two blocks long (standing in the rain) when we made our visit.

We felt a particularly poignant juxtaposition as we learned that the Frank family tried to escape to the US (when Ann was 13), but were unsuccessful. The Reisner family was fortunate to be accepted for US immigration (when Ann Reisner was 13) and you know the rest of the story.  You may remember that Susan was a docent for school children when the Ann Frank exhibit was shown in Fort Worth a few years ago.  We will experience more of this sad theme in coming days when we go to Vienna.

Late afternoon and our jet lag us kicking us hard. None the less we are determined to stay up until Amsterdam bed time. Fighting off or fatigue, we tuck into traditional Dutch pancakes and a huge piece of Dutch apple pie.  The pancakes are cross between crepes and pizza with toppings of choice, some sweet, some savory.

I promised to find out why the language of this country is named “Dutch” instead of Netherlander or Hollander, but I have not done it. I will before we depart

Cheers!