Amsterdam, Holland
June 17, 2023
We arrived early, and before dawn. From the cabin, we heard the distinctive sounds we always dread. The ship sliding up the channel, easing toward the dock, and being tied off so passengers can depart.
As wonderful as a cruise can be, there may be no worse day than the morning it ends: Luggage piled outside cabins, crowds scrambling for a final free meal, and the crew adamantly insisting you get off their ship.
After a last cup of coffee and look across the bow, that’s what we did. It was the easiest disembarkation we’ve ever had.
We walked onto the gangway at 7:45, into a cab at 8:00, and were at our hotel near Schiphol by 8:30. And our rooms were ready!
We had the whole day ahead of us. Now we needed to figure out what to do. So naturally, after being on a ship for two weeks, we opted to go back on the water.
If Scandinavians strived to conquer the cold and Germans worked to fight the forests, in Holland they labor to subdue the sea. One weapon is the labyrinth of canals by which Amsterdam is carved.
I found a cruise to carry us thru them. Having settled in our room, we decided to return to town. We took a ten minute taxi to Schiphol, where we sardined ourselves onto a train to the city.
You may not get a second chance to make a first impression. But you can get a first chance to make second one. Today, that’s what Amsterdam had. The response was mixed.
When we emerged from Centraal Station after a two week hiatus, the temperature and crowds had risen considerably. Since we went to sea, summer had come ashore.
We had an hour and a half to wend our way to the Hermitage, where we’d catch our cruise. But across the water, we were immediately captivated.
On one side was the Gothic Renaissance station we’d just left. This masterpiece by Pierre Cuypers opened in 1889, a few years after his equally glorious Rijksmuseum featured its first exhibits.
To our right across the Open Havenfront is the magnificent neo-Baroque Basilica of St Nicholas. The heart of Catholic Amsterdam is an ornate monument to the city’s patron saint.
The façade features a beautiful rose window flanked by two towers backed by a baroque dome at the cross of the building. Desire dragged us toward it. But time tugged us way.
We crossed the bridge, and followed our path. Within a few blocks, across another canal, the alleys narrowed, pungent aromas filled the air, and storefront “mannequins” began to move. We’d entered the Red Light district.
Needing to catch our cruise and hoping for time to eat, we walked quickly thru this notorious neighborhood that during the day fills with trash and tourists. We didn’t stick around to see what happens at night.
The area arose at the city’s origin, near the spot where the first dam blocked the River Amstel. It attracted sailors, merchants, migrants…and prostitutes. They’ve been here since, alternately tolerated or suppressed, but (as in every other place and time) never eliminated.
As spiritual reminder or relief, the great dome of St Nicholas looms up the canal, while the imposing Oude Kirk stands staunchly in this sea of sin.
As elsewhere in Amsterdam, building ornament and architecture remained appealing. But what they housed was pretty repulsive. As David put it, “if you look up it’s beautiful. If you look down, it’s disgusting.”
Beyond the red lights and the aroma of reefer, we passed City Hall, went thru Waterlooplein Market, and found ourselves along the Amstel in front of the Hermitage.
We still hadn’t eaten, and our sons were hungry. We stepped into the large courtyard of the Amstelhof, a former retirement home that hosts the Hermitage.
It was built in 1682. The classical façade extending along the river is the longest in Amsterdam. With its symmetrical wings, it surrounds the courtyard we’d just entered.
Around it vendors sold food items and some drinks. In the back corner, a small café offered what we wanted. We grabbed salad, tea, and a couple pieces of Dutch apple pie that our sons ate as we sat outside.
Inside, people mulled around a museum whose mission had changed. In 2009, the remodeled building opened as an annex to the mother Museum in St. Petersburg.
After the invasion of the Ukraine, that umbilical cord was cut.
St Petersburg was founded by Peter the Great after the Czar visited Amsterdam in the late 17th century. Like this city, it rose from swamps, with Dutch engineers supplying expertise. Ties between the towns remained tight.
Since severing them last year, the Amsterdam Hermitage has hosted temporary exhibitions and others in association with the Amsterdam Museum next door.
After enjoying the courtyard and our lunch, we hopped aboard our waiting boat. The guides were excellent, providing insights and alcohol as we drifted thru a series of canals.
From the water, the consequences of building on a tidal swamp become apparent. Among the first sites we saw were the “Gay” houses across the Amstel from the Amsterdam Opera.
Resting on wood piles that settle unevenly over decades and centuries, none of these structures are “straight”. All tilt or droop at odd angles, looking like buildings Dali might design.
Further down river we coasted past “Coin Tower”, originally part of the 1480 Medieval wall that protected the city. After a fire consumed the barrier, only this tower still stood. In 1680, it was reconstructed in Renaissance style.
Designed by Hendrick de Keyser, an elegant spire caps an octagonal extension atop the original brick tower. On and within are four clock-faces and a carillon of bells.
The tower’s name derives from a two-year period when England and France each declared war on the Netherlands. Under French occupation from 1672-1674, silver and gold couldn’t be sent to Dutch cities where they were normally minted, so coinage was temporarily conducted here.
In the midst of the period coins were minted in the tower, locks were constructed on the Amstel. In front of the beautiful Neo-Renaissance Theater Carré (built two centuries later), we floated thru these mechanisms meant to regulate salt water from the Ij and fresh water from suburban polders.
For a couple centuries, mills powered by horse and wind were added and removed, in vain efforts to mitigate silting, waste, and flooding from the river and in the canals. In the 1870s, a steam powered mill finally did the trick.
The locks were manually operated till just a few years ago. The small house in the center was meant for the lock keeper. It’s now a tiny hotel room, charging rates exceeding those of the elegant Intercontinental just upstream.
From the Hermitage, we returned to Centraal Station by a different path. This one took us past the Jewish Museum and the magnificent Portuguese Synagogue.
In 1492…under threat of death…Spanish Jews were ordered to leave Spain or become Catholic. Many who refused went to Portugal, where a similar decree soon followed.
Amsterdam offered an escape, and a migration of Marranos soon began. To avoid association with Spain…with which Holland was at war…all these Iberian immigrants called themselves “Portuguese” Jews.
With Dutch Christians they built this synagogue, among the global ornaments to a resilient religion and durable race.
As hunger returned, we decided it was time for Dutch pancakes. Near Centraal Station, on our way to the Hermitage, we saw a place called “Pancakes Amsterdam.”
Something told us it might have what we wanted.
On our way there, we skirted the Red Light District, avoiding the sleazier areas we saw earlier. Our sons love Amsterdam, particularly after our initial visit a couple weeks ago. But David seemed disappointed by its seedy side.
“It kind of makes me like it less.”, he said sadly.
That’s not unusual. And it’s OK.
As with people, initial infatuations can be misleading. As acquaintance increases, we learn more, yet may like less. Amsterdam may be known for sordid activity, but every city has it.
The pancakes helped revive his assessment. Like Italian pizza, these delicacies are thinner and finer (and better) than the hefty flapjacks served in the states. More like French crêpes than an American pancake, they were fantastic.
As the afternoon waned, we grew weary. We opted to skip the train and grab a taxi. Our flight is tomorrow morning, so we’re staying near the airport to beat the crowds at Schiphol.
This trip was terrific. It was a celebration of each son’s graduation from high school, and their transition to being independent adults. In that sense…and most every other…it was a success.
Like this voyage, our children’s childhood is over. I’m not sure I’m ready for either to end.
But I don’t think I have much choice.
JD