One of the most amazing things about the Netherlands is how incredibly flat it is. A natural biker, I'm not. I get lost easily in the labyrinth streets, I'm skittish about the traffic (and this is in a country with dedicated bike paths), I'm even more skittish about the pedestrians (re: tourists) who inadvertently wander in front of me, seemingly out of nowhere, and I'm embarrassed to say that I still occasionally have to spend a few minutes locating my bike out of the myriad indistinguishable rusty old bikes parked in the same vicinity as mine. What I've found I do like about biking, at least in Amsterdam, is that it's easy.
Settled on land reclaimed from the sea, the builders of Amsterdam had the foresight to make it flat. As in very very very flat. As in, the very slight slope on a street a few blocks over is worthy of remark. It always catches my eye.
Just how level Amsterdam is was brought home to me when Jason and I made a day trip out to Zuid-Kennemerland National Park yesterday. We, and our bikes, took a quick train out to Haarlem and then headed west on our bikes. The park is notable for it's large sand dunes and I'll admit that before we got there, I wasn't entirely sure how we were going to bike this with our aging one speed bikes. For some reason, perhaps it was the word dune, in my imagination I had pictured hill after hill of sand leading us down to the sea; camel optional. To my surprise, we didn't end up in the Sahara.
Rather, Dutch sand dunes are covered in some of the most beautiful and unique trees and brush that I've ever seen. Very hilly, the landscape is covered in low flora in a range of muted greens, silvers and greys with a few low flowery patches, although I expect that more flowers will appear as the sun becomes stronger. It's the roots of these plants that help protect the sand lying just under the surface, clearly visible on horse trails that appear from time to time. To protect the delicate ecosystem, some areas of which are protected areas set away from the public, the Dutch have built biking and walking paths through the dunes. Even here, wandering through the hills, are the bike paths impressively flat, or so I thought. As a novice biker, it appears that I have landed in the right town. After a day spent biking inclines almost negligible to the human eyes, the ache in my legs was a testament to Amsterdam's impressive uniform flatness.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Better than Christmas?
I'd been told that every April 30th on Koninginnedag, or Queen's Day, the Netherlands holds the party to end all parties, a spectacle like no other, the day when the country turns orange and floods the streets with celebrations.
It's a bit of a cliche to say that the Dutch are a reserved people, but cliches do come from somewhere, right? When I woke up yesterday, I was expecting a good day, but didn't quite believe the hype. Wow, was I wrong! I'm a total convert.
A bit of background; Koninginnedag is generally celebrated by the wearing of the colour orange, a nod to the Royal family and the House of Orange. It is the one day of the year where a license is not needed for sales, and consequently the entire country becomes one massive yard sale. As the day progresses, the sales give way to a more adult version of 'anything goes' as the streets become packed with drunken celebrations.
Jason and I started our day early. We were out of the house by 10am and I was shocked to see that the major streets near our house were already lined with what can only be described as old crap and bargain-hunters desperate to find those few items that weren't; essentially a typical yard sale, except that this one could be measured in kilometers. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised; chalk outlines had appeared two days earlier, marking out reserved spaces for those on their game. We had a good wander through, looking at the old dvd's, books, clothes, batteries and dodgy looking appliances before heading east of the Linnaeusstraat into an area more populated with young families.
By the end of the morning, I was convinced that if I had grown up as a Dutch child, I would have looked forward to Koninginnedag more than Christmas. Within a few small blocks was contained more family fun than I may have experienced in my entire life. Faces were being painted with flags, orange crowns and less traditional but perhaps more child-friendly subjects like dragons and princesses. Under orange construction paper hats was hair spray-painted to match. Lining the sides of the streets were all types of children's rides. There were small steam engine trains, carousels, and miniature carnival swing rides. In keeping with the free market, also, were all types of services. Everywhere were booths selling all manner of services. There were orange cupcakes and orange juice, natch. There was a booth set up for children to hammer away at indescribable creations. Children banged away at drums, violins and guitars every half block or so. There were water balloon booths, and one child was selling glances into a mysterious box. The streets were congested with families. Parents pushed baby carriages and small children rode on their father's shoulders or clung to their parents' hands and through all of this occasionally would wander groups of adults that define labels. The one that stands out most were a group of 7 men dressed in black, carrying very large inner tubes on their heads. By the time we headed home for lunch, I was convinced that Koninginnedag is the greatest day ever.
After a quick break, we headed back out but this time towards the center of the city. One of the most fascinating aspects of the day is the slow transition from full-on market place, to family friendly festival to adult debauchery. By 1pm, the streets of the Utrechtsestraat were already cluttered with empty beer cans, broken wine bottles, dancers, the occasional passed-out inebriated merrymaker and more shades and manner of orange outfit than I could have ever imagined. Jason didn't look even a little bit out of place in his orange Pippi Longstocking wig, and my orange feather boa was embarrassingly tame. As we wandered around the city, the streets became more and more crowded and more and more noisy. Almost at the corner of every street was an impromptu party complete with dj and speaker system peaking just as we neared the free outdoor concert at the Museumplein, when it took almost twenty minutes to work our way down one block. The congestion extended to the waterways as well, where the canals were so packed with party boats that we were able to watch for awhile as revelers jumped from boat to boat and then walk ahead, leaving them behind to try and work their way along the canals.
By the time I dragged my poor, long-suffering feet home, the sun was setting but the festivities were going strong, the garbage was continuing to pile high, and I was a complete convert.
It's a bit of a cliche to say that the Dutch are a reserved people, but cliches do come from somewhere, right? When I woke up yesterday, I was expecting a good day, but didn't quite believe the hype. Wow, was I wrong! I'm a total convert.
A bit of background; Koninginnedag is generally celebrated by the wearing of the colour orange, a nod to the Royal family and the House of Orange. It is the one day of the year where a license is not needed for sales, and consequently the entire country becomes one massive yard sale. As the day progresses, the sales give way to a more adult version of 'anything goes' as the streets become packed with drunken celebrations.
Jason and I started our day early. We were out of the house by 10am and I was shocked to see that the major streets near our house were already lined with what can only be described as old crap and bargain-hunters desperate to find those few items that weren't; essentially a typical yard sale, except that this one could be measured in kilometers. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised; chalk outlines had appeared two days earlier, marking out reserved spaces for those on their game. We had a good wander through, looking at the old dvd's, books, clothes, batteries and dodgy looking appliances before heading east of the Linnaeusstraat into an area more populated with young families.
By the end of the morning, I was convinced that if I had grown up as a Dutch child, I would have looked forward to Koninginnedag more than Christmas. Within a few small blocks was contained more family fun than I may have experienced in my entire life. Faces were being painted with flags, orange crowns and less traditional but perhaps more child-friendly subjects like dragons and princesses. Under orange construction paper hats was hair spray-painted to match. Lining the sides of the streets were all types of children's rides. There were small steam engine trains, carousels, and miniature carnival swing rides. In keeping with the free market, also, were all types of services. Everywhere were booths selling all manner of services. There were orange cupcakes and orange juice, natch. There was a booth set up for children to hammer away at indescribable creations. Children banged away at drums, violins and guitars every half block or so. There were water balloon booths, and one child was selling glances into a mysterious box. The streets were congested with families. Parents pushed baby carriages and small children rode on their father's shoulders or clung to their parents' hands and through all of this occasionally would wander groups of adults that define labels. The one that stands out most were a group of 7 men dressed in black, carrying very large inner tubes on their heads. By the time we headed home for lunch, I was convinced that Koninginnedag is the greatest day ever.
After a quick break, we headed back out but this time towards the center of the city. One of the most fascinating aspects of the day is the slow transition from full-on market place, to family friendly festival to adult debauchery. By 1pm, the streets of the Utrechtsestraat were already cluttered with empty beer cans, broken wine bottles, dancers, the occasional passed-out inebriated merrymaker and more shades and manner of orange outfit than I could have ever imagined. Jason didn't look even a little bit out of place in his orange Pippi Longstocking wig, and my orange feather boa was embarrassingly tame. As we wandered around the city, the streets became more and more crowded and more and more noisy. Almost at the corner of every street was an impromptu party complete with dj and speaker system peaking just as we neared the free outdoor concert at the Museumplein, when it took almost twenty minutes to work our way down one block. The congestion extended to the waterways as well, where the canals were so packed with party boats that we were able to watch for awhile as revelers jumped from boat to boat and then walk ahead, leaving them behind to try and work their way along the canals.
By the time I dragged my poor, long-suffering feet home, the sun was setting but the festivities were going strong, the garbage was continuing to pile high, and I was a complete convert.
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