Tuesday May 14 -- Amsterdam

I left early again and caught the train to Muiderspoort.  Here I was able to catch a Number 3 tram going directly to the Rijksmuseum at Spiegelgracht -- too directly, in fact, as I got there with twenty minutes to spare before they opened at 9 am. I wandered around the gardens and the nearby public areas and watched the tourists accumulate. They opened the doors promptly at 9 and there wasn't too much of a wait before I had my ticket, stowed my coat and bag in a locker, used a toilet, and was looking at the temporary exhibit which announces itself as 'ALL the Rembrandts!" They mean all the etchings, of which there are hundreds.

Some were impressive, some just quick scrapings. Most of them were so small that I had to take off my glasses and lean in to see them. There were also some ink sketches, some of them quite impressionistic, and a few paintings. And good as they were, I can't help feeling that some equally talented artist who got to Amsterdam just a month or two after Rembrandt might have turned out work just as good all his or her life without ever getting one ten-thousandth of the credit.

The museum itself is quite confusing to get around, but eventually I located the oriental art section, which at that time was nearly deserted, and from there went upstairs to the medieval and renaissance art. Like other galleries, the Rijksmuseum sensibly offers a highlights section for short-term visitors, so I went through that and then on to hectares and hectares of big canvases showing saints and madonnas. By the time I was through to the eighteenth century and damp Dutch landscapes, the rooms were filling up and my feet were getting tired, so I decided that was enough art for the day.

By the way, I saw Bill's doppelganger in the etchings gallery -- tall, glasses, thinning hair, prominent chin, just a few years older than Bill. Had he been alone I might have approached him and taken his photo, but he had a band of admiring young women with him. I'm not sure what that indicates.

From the museum I walked a block or two to a very ritzy shopping street; Ferraris parked at the kerb, and all the famous fashion stores, though none very big or apparently very busy. I was rather concerned at my chances of getting an affordable lunch, but I found a place around the corner that offered burgers and beer, so I ate there and had my first Dutch frites; but these ones at least weren't a patch on the Belgian equivalents. And the waitress forgot part of my order again. I must be at an age where waitresses just screen me out automatically; they have to make a deliberate effort to recall me to mind.

From here to the adjacent Vondelpark, which is a long stretch of grassland centred around a lake in the middle. From the edge you can see the backs of some very impressive mansions. Cyclists and dog-walkers were here in droves and there were a few photographers in action. I suspect this is one of the few places in Amsterdam that you can take a picture that looks countrified. Some of the dog-walkers ride bikes with big flat platforms on the front; the dogs ride in style on these until they reach the park, then run alongside the rider for their exercise.

I bought an ice-cream and strolled around for an hour or so until my legs needed a break. Then I made my way back to the museum area and booked in for a self-guided tour of the Bols Distillery. This is a lot smaller than Heineken, and a lot less pushy, though there were strong elements of marketing to it. The best part was a row of 50 or so spray bottles that you could use to sniff various Bols products and try to identify them. I got a few, but most were way beyond me. And I learnt a little bit about the history of gin.

I hadn't realised that there were so many Bols products, though; many in vibrant colours and including fermented yoghurt and a kind of Bailey's cream. Their latest flagship is a re-creation of the original blend from 1650 or so, which they're pushing to cocktail bars around the world; and if that isn't enough you can get an aged version as well. I wasn't game to ask the price.

The end of the tour brings you into the proprietary cocktail bar, where a screen on the wall allows you to select the cocktail of your choice. You get one free with entry, so I opted for a Garden of Eden--straight gin, ice sugar syrup, muddled cucumber and a sprig of mint. The machine printed the recipe, I took it to the bar, and the barmaid produced an expertly-made long drink which was very good indeed. So much so that I was tempted to stick around afterwards drinking extra cocktails at #6 per pop; but I thought that might take the edge off the perfection of that first one.

Back on the street with feet still sore, I opted for a fairly close experience -- the Pipe Museum. This is run by two gnomes; an old man downstairs with bristly hair who still sells pipes and other smoking apparatus, and an old woman upstairs who gives a talk about their collection. I don't know if I would have gone if it hadn't been included on the ticket, but it was an interesting way to spend an hour. There were a couple of New Zealanders already there, plus a Dutch local who spoke English with a wonderfully refined accent; an Oxbridge graduate, perhaps? This is in the bohemian area of town, by the way, with a 'coffeeshop' next door and a jazz bar around the corner.

Back at Spiegelgracht, I found the eastbound tram stop eventually and reversed my procedure of this morning. I was home much earlier than the two previous days, but still quite exhausted, and I crawled into bed about eight after a dinner of gnocchi and tinned herring. I have stocked up at the supermarket on food for the next couple of days, and managed to include some fresh vegetables this time. 

My host here seems to be taking the 'B and B' part of AirBnB seriously; she comes in while I'm out and provides a clean towel and some random fruit and snacky-bar stuff for my breakfast. Some have been quite nice, but I'm not game to try the Koekreep, which comes in a plastic packet and looks like a brown washing-up sponge. And it means I have to stop and think about whether I'm leaving a mess when I go out. It's not quite the perfect privacy I would have preferred.

I'll put the photos up separately soon.

And so to bed.