Amsterdam Interval
Through my hotel window I view the Prinsengracht (Prince's canal), at once subdued but also with colors varnished by the light rain. On a red bicycle wearing a red slicker with brushcut red hair and a ruddy face arrives the post (young) man--startling to see a person entirely red as a matchtip. On Kerkstraat, dodging the bicycle traffic, I'm rapidly overtaken by a yellow-slickered woman, carrying a likewise yellow-slickered toddler (otherwise unprotected) before her like a figurehead. The bicycles--all beaters--which Amsterdammers use as the principal means of commuting in this city of canals and narrow lanes, at rest are littered everywhere. Bicyclists benefit on most
straats from separated, specified lanes, but pedestrians--in terms of right-of-way--are last.
I rode a clean, efficient modern train and tram to get here, respectively painted bright yellow and orange with bold, contrasting graphic designs. And they contrast further from their terminus, Centraal Station, which, with its baroque towers and ornamentation, epitomizes some child's storybook Europe. Other than the station, likewise fantastic clock towers and many an
oude kerke, Amsterdam is a low city with the principal burghers' row homes lining the canals only 4-7 stories tall, crowned by whimsically styled gables, each with a pulley hook. (I speculated these were formerly used to raise amassed goods for storage, but I have since seen them still in use to raise furniture that couldn't fit up the narrow staircases.) The concentric semicircular canals, with their radials, were clearly once the primary means of transportation to the River Amstel; the narrow lanes seem an afterthought.
However storybook the Amsterdam Centrum appears, it's populated by a germanic, no-nonsense people quite intent on making headway. Their New York-style abrasion is alleviated, somewhat, by their often stunning looks. Several types emerge--the blond or red-headed pale aryans with chiseled features, or the honey-complexioned swarthier ones with regal aquiline noses and copper hair. If not particularly interested in the foreigner--they're so many here I shouldn't blame them--the Dutch are perfect hosts. These impressive polyglots make a game of guessing your language, and address you in it without accents. Contrary to my guidebook's inference that Amsterdammers like to hear the tourist speak a bit of Dutch, my hosts seem confused, offput, by my attempts--implying their English is less than perfect? Dutch remains the insiders' code here, a more rustic-sounding relative of
Deutsche.
posted by Paul at 7:25 AM
