Nukesafe in Paris, Welkenraedt, and Amsterdam
Jun 15th, 2011, 09:31 PM
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I asked DW what else we had done in Paris, and she reminded me of our accidental visit to the Petit Palais. How could I have forgotten the Petit Palais? It was awesome, but it was the result of another one of my dumb mistakes. We had failed to go to the Grand Palais on earlier trips to Paris, so we scheduled Tuesday as the day of our visit. Of course, you guessed that out of my mountain of notes, safely gathered and stored on my computer from guide books, and this Forum, I had forgotten to extract that one important piece of information vital to our visit.
The damned place is closed on Tuesdays! Damned French ------
We were not the only idiots who milled around the entrance puzzling why we could not get in. A surprising number of other misguided souls kept tugging on the doors and peering through the windows.
We had never been to the Petit Palais, so let's make the best of it and do the lesser of the two. We crossed the street, and entered one of the most lovely museums it has ever been my pleasure to visit. The whole place, building, decoration, paintings, and sculpture simply are stunning. The place glows. It gives the illusion of transparency, of luminosity, of old grandeur, and modernity at the same time. I'm getting a bit carried away here, but whoever planned the restoration (it reopened in 2005) did a magnificent job. We will have to save the Grand Palais for the next trip, but I cannot imagine how it could surpass the visit we had of it's little sister.
It was some small consolation that, when we finally left the Petit Palais, there were still people tugging on the doors across the street.
Another afternoon the four of us had what turned out to be the highlight of the trip, for me at least. We took a tour, with one of the Paris Greeters, of the Menilmontant/Belleville neighborhood. I had tried to take one of their tours on a previous visit to Paris, but received no response. This time I wrote them early, gave a more expansive description of what superb human beings we all were, and made a donation. We got a prompt response, and then a “proposal” came that agreed to match us with one of their volunteer guides, Claude. Claude wrote us a general description of the neighborhood in which she lived, and what she would like to show us. The Paris Greeter organization made it clear that if this was not to our liking they would try to link us with a different guide, or return my donation.
Sounded wonderful to us, so I accepted immediately. Claude and I wrote back and forth, setting up a meeting place and time, as well as exchanging some personal information. She said to meet her in front of the Marie in Gambetta Square at 2:00, and she would lead us on a stroll, lasting from two to four hours, depending on our interest level, and stamina.
We took the 69 bus, which is a scenic tour in itself, to within a block of the Gambetta Square, and planted ourselves in front of the Mairie of the 20th Arrondissement, where we waited for a few moments for the appearance of a most attractive lady, who looked much too young to be retired. We then started a most fascinating journey through the narrow streets and alleyways that make up this rapidly changing area. In the past, Claude explained, the area was just outside of the outer walls of Paris, and thus exempt from the taxes levied on wine. Folks would come from the city to drink, and the town gained a rather bawdy reputation. It is no longer free of taxes, but has been slow to change until the advent of the dreaded BoBo. That stands for Bourgeois Bohemian; a new class in France that is well off, and is busily “gentrifying” portions of the city by buying homes at outrageous prices, fixing them up and selling them for even more ridiculous sums. That is all right in one sense, but it is causing angst among the loser income old timers, who's rents are going up, and their neighborhoods being changed around them.
Belleville is undergoing those growth pains, and Claude wanted us to show us what remains of the old, while pointing out the good parts of the changes. I cannot begin to tell you of all the places we went, and sights we saw, but a lot of the interesting things involved venues for community cooperative activities, such as theater, art, and dance. By the end of the tour, when we sat down to have a drink, we were all ready to move to Belleville.
BTW, the only disappointment of the stroll was when Claude planned for us to have a drink at a wonderful bar on Belleville hill, "La Mer a Boire", and enjoy one of the finest views of Paris to be had. The view was still there, with a apectacular view out over Belleville Gardens, but the bar was closed, apparently for renovation.
Perhaps the highlight of the stroll was meeting a real live anarchist. Claude had been telling us about the colorful characters who still inhabit the area, and mentioned that an anarchist lived in one of the houses we passed. We figured it was an historic site of some long dead rebel, but Claude said he was still about, marched us over to his studio and marched right in. There, in the flesh, was Licio Urtubia Jimenez. He was a Spaniard who had deserted the Spanish army because of his beliefs and fled to France, where he became a full fledged anarchist. He robbed banks to support his cause, then turned to counterfeiting. A real cops and robbers life eventually led him to prison, where he cut a deal for early release by telling them where the printing plates were hidden. An aging, but still dedicated and vital guy that gave us a big welcome and tried to convert us with a lecture about the evil of banks; of which I caught about every word in ten. (I sort of agree with the part about the banks.)
Have you ever met a real live anarchist? Neither Dan nor I had. Coffee shop anarchists, sure. College dorm anarchists, of course. But a real honest to god one? Wow, we felt honored as he posed with us for pictures. We have his book on order, and just got a DVD documentary about his life the other day. Haven't seen it yet, but am looking forward to it.
Based on only our experience, we can heartily recommend the Paris Greeters.
We also took an evening cruise on the Seine, using discount tickets I got online for the Vedettes Pont Neuf. That is the way to go, IMO. Since you can use the tickets any time, we just waited for a clear, warm evening, walked down to the other end of the island, and climbed aboard just at dusk. Simply lovely.
That's about it for Paris. We did a lot of other small things, like just strolling around St. Germain, listening to the street musicians on the bridges, and the like. We also committed the terrible, crass, and non earth-friendly sin of celebrating our 26th meetaversary by clicking an engraved padlock onto the mesh of the Pont des Arts at sunset on our last night. Graffiti, probably, but we felt swell as we tossed our keys into the Seine, and did a little smooching. Hundreds were doing similar things all around us, and they were kind enough not to snicker at those old folks making out.
After ten days, we saw Dan and Amy off to Orly, where they were going to spend another ten days visiting Amy's old stomping grounds, which Dan had never seen.
I'll send this bit off, and get to Belgium and Holland in a while.
The damned place is closed on Tuesdays! Damned French ------
We were not the only idiots who milled around the entrance puzzling why we could not get in. A surprising number of other misguided souls kept tugging on the doors and peering through the windows.
We had never been to the Petit Palais, so let's make the best of it and do the lesser of the two. We crossed the street, and entered one of the most lovely museums it has ever been my pleasure to visit. The whole place, building, decoration, paintings, and sculpture simply are stunning. The place glows. It gives the illusion of transparency, of luminosity, of old grandeur, and modernity at the same time. I'm getting a bit carried away here, but whoever planned the restoration (it reopened in 2005) did a magnificent job. We will have to save the Grand Palais for the next trip, but I cannot imagine how it could surpass the visit we had of it's little sister.
It was some small consolation that, when we finally left the Petit Palais, there were still people tugging on the doors across the street.
Another afternoon the four of us had what turned out to be the highlight of the trip, for me at least. We took a tour, with one of the Paris Greeters, of the Menilmontant/Belleville neighborhood. I had tried to take one of their tours on a previous visit to Paris, but received no response. This time I wrote them early, gave a more expansive description of what superb human beings we all were, and made a donation. We got a prompt response, and then a “proposal” came that agreed to match us with one of their volunteer guides, Claude. Claude wrote us a general description of the neighborhood in which she lived, and what she would like to show us. The Paris Greeter organization made it clear that if this was not to our liking they would try to link us with a different guide, or return my donation.
Sounded wonderful to us, so I accepted immediately. Claude and I wrote back and forth, setting up a meeting place and time, as well as exchanging some personal information. She said to meet her in front of the Marie in Gambetta Square at 2:00, and she would lead us on a stroll, lasting from two to four hours, depending on our interest level, and stamina.
We took the 69 bus, which is a scenic tour in itself, to within a block of the Gambetta Square, and planted ourselves in front of the Mairie of the 20th Arrondissement, where we waited for a few moments for the appearance of a most attractive lady, who looked much too young to be retired. We then started a most fascinating journey through the narrow streets and alleyways that make up this rapidly changing area. In the past, Claude explained, the area was just outside of the outer walls of Paris, and thus exempt from the taxes levied on wine. Folks would come from the city to drink, and the town gained a rather bawdy reputation. It is no longer free of taxes, but has been slow to change until the advent of the dreaded BoBo. That stands for Bourgeois Bohemian; a new class in France that is well off, and is busily “gentrifying” portions of the city by buying homes at outrageous prices, fixing them up and selling them for even more ridiculous sums. That is all right in one sense, but it is causing angst among the loser income old timers, who's rents are going up, and their neighborhoods being changed around them.
Belleville is undergoing those growth pains, and Claude wanted us to show us what remains of the old, while pointing out the good parts of the changes. I cannot begin to tell you of all the places we went, and sights we saw, but a lot of the interesting things involved venues for community cooperative activities, such as theater, art, and dance. By the end of the tour, when we sat down to have a drink, we were all ready to move to Belleville.
BTW, the only disappointment of the stroll was when Claude planned for us to have a drink at a wonderful bar on Belleville hill, "La Mer a Boire", and enjoy one of the finest views of Paris to be had. The view was still there, with a apectacular view out over Belleville Gardens, but the bar was closed, apparently for renovation.
Perhaps the highlight of the stroll was meeting a real live anarchist. Claude had been telling us about the colorful characters who still inhabit the area, and mentioned that an anarchist lived in one of the houses we passed. We figured it was an historic site of some long dead rebel, but Claude said he was still about, marched us over to his studio and marched right in. There, in the flesh, was Licio Urtubia Jimenez. He was a Spaniard who had deserted the Spanish army because of his beliefs and fled to France, where he became a full fledged anarchist. He robbed banks to support his cause, then turned to counterfeiting. A real cops and robbers life eventually led him to prison, where he cut a deal for early release by telling them where the printing plates were hidden. An aging, but still dedicated and vital guy that gave us a big welcome and tried to convert us with a lecture about the evil of banks; of which I caught about every word in ten. (I sort of agree with the part about the banks.)
Have you ever met a real live anarchist? Neither Dan nor I had. Coffee shop anarchists, sure. College dorm anarchists, of course. But a real honest to god one? Wow, we felt honored as he posed with us for pictures. We have his book on order, and just got a DVD documentary about his life the other day. Haven't seen it yet, but am looking forward to it.
Based on only our experience, we can heartily recommend the Paris Greeters.
We also took an evening cruise on the Seine, using discount tickets I got online for the Vedettes Pont Neuf. That is the way to go, IMO. Since you can use the tickets any time, we just waited for a clear, warm evening, walked down to the other end of the island, and climbed aboard just at dusk. Simply lovely.
That's about it for Paris. We did a lot of other small things, like just strolling around St. Germain, listening to the street musicians on the bridges, and the like. We also committed the terrible, crass, and non earth-friendly sin of celebrating our 26th meetaversary by clicking an engraved padlock onto the mesh of the Pont des Arts at sunset on our last night. Graffiti, probably, but we felt swell as we tossed our keys into the Seine, and did a little smooching. Hundreds were doing similar things all around us, and they were kind enough not to snicker at those old folks making out.
After ten days, we saw Dan and Amy off to Orly, where they were going to spend another ten days visiting Amy's old stomping grounds, which Dan had never seen.
I'll send this bit off, and get to Belgium and Holland in a while.
Jun 16th, 2011, 08:55 AM
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Here is the link to Paris Greeters, annhig, and klondiketoo: http://www.parisiendunjour.fr/index.php?lang=en BTW, if you click on the "Access Program", for those with disabilities, link at the top of the page, our Guide, Claude, is the neat lady in the right of the picture.
On the "how much" question; I hesitate to answer for fear of revealing how cheap I am, but the way I figured it was that the "customary" tip for those other "free" tours around Paris seems to be around €10. There were four of us.
Then I thought, "Well, if the "free" is lousy you could stiff the guide." I sent €30, and now I really do feel cheap, so I have sent them more.
In addition, we intend to contact Claude the next time we plan a Paris trip and invite her to dinner in her favorite restaurant in Belleville.
On the "how much" question; I hesitate to answer for fear of revealing how cheap I am, but the way I figured it was that the "customary" tip for those other "free" tours around Paris seems to be around €10. There were four of us.
Then I thought, "Well, if the "free" is lousy you could stiff the guide." I sent €30, and now I really do feel cheap, so I have sent them more.
In addition, we intend to contact Claude the next time we plan a Paris trip and invite her to dinner in her favorite restaurant in Belleville.
Jun 16th, 2011, 11:37 AM
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Thanks for a great report. Not only entertaining, but so full of new ideas about things we will enjoy during our upcoming trip in September, like lunch at the Madeleine or a neighborhood walk with a greeter.
Jun 17th, 2011, 11:28 AM
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I should say a few more things about the Paris portion of the trip before I go on. Firstly, we could have not asked for better traveling companions than Dan and Amy. They are (seriously) the best next door neighbors we have ever had. They are bright, humorous, intelligent adults who are a joy to be around. They were always cheerful, happy to follow our leads, but independent enough to strike out on their own. Above all, they had the good grace not to shout at me, when the guy who had spent a year planning the trip, screwed up. That happened embarrassingly often; they probably would not have made it to Orly for their flight to Pisa if they had followed my directions, for example. We cannot think of any other couple with whom we would share an apartment, or travel with long term.
The other thing I should say about the Paris portion of the trip is that I did too much planning, I think. We made the decision a year in advance, and I figured, realistically, that this might be my last trip, I started following travel blogs more closely, studied French, got new guidebooks, and started making lists. That last part was my downfall. I have many, many, pages of notes about fascinating things to do and see in Paris. We saw very few of them. There are over 150 museums in Paris, you know, and I went to only a handful. I started a list of restaurants recommended by travelers in their trip reports, and started a Google map of their locations. By the time we left, I had 142 moderately priced restaurants listed at which we could get a good lunch. Somehow, we ate at none of them, so I feel a bit of a failure in that regard.
There will be other times, said he, hopefully.
We had not decided what we were going to do with the rest of the trip. I knew we would be spending a planned few days with my oldest Son in Belgium, but didn't really want to hang around Paris without Dan and Amy. We wanted to see other parts of France, and considered getting a cheapo hotel, and doing day trips. Also thought about simply jumping to a different French town with a different flavor, like Strasbourg, but that would have meant a lot of back tracking on the train. We finally decided to go straight to Welkenraedt in Belgium, spend a few days, and then head to Amsterdam for our last four days before flying home. I used to know Amsterdam well, and was anxious to show it to Annette, who had only spent a short time there many years ago.
First, Belgium. We caught a TGV from Gare du Nord to Liege, Belgium, where Son picked us up and drove about a half hour to his place. My first Son, Mal, and his lady, Mani, live on a farm near the town of Welkenraedt, which is close to the German border. Aachen is the closest big German city. We have a new Grand Daughter, who is nine months old, who we just had to see. We accomplished that mission and were able to reacquaint ourselves with the family, and the farm, and kick back for a bit. Nothing much about this portion of the trip to interest travelers except for the farm. My Son and his love, who is German, bought this 400 year old farmhouse on what had been a dairy farm for many generations. The family business is the running of sales booths (they call them “huts”), in German Christmas Markets, which they set up in various cities in early November, and run through Christmas. This year they had huts in five cities. They work like crazy people from mid Summer, through Xmas, then head to Goa in India for a month or so to recuperate with Yoga and cleansing diets, then off to wander the back roads of Kasmir and other out of the way places to find, buy, and have shipped, the goods they will sell in the huts the following Winter. By early Spring they are back on the farm, again working like crazy people on the land and house.
In 15 years they have turned the place from a cattle feeding yard, with soil as hard a concrete, and no nutrients at all in it, to a literal Garden of Eden. They are Vegan, and grow almost all of their vegetables in a series of gardens and greenhouses. They have planted hundreds of fruit trees, rebuilt the stone house, and added to it extensively, as well as building new storehouse for the market stock, and workshops.
The place, and their lifestyle takes an incredible amount of effort and dedication, so we hesitate to visit with them long, as our coming puts an absolute halt to constructive, and maintenance activities on the property. When we come, everything stops. Period. We feel pampered, and guilty at the same time. We know we could go there and stay forever, but then we would have to join the frantic work schedule they must maintain, or feel even more guilty.
Two things that might interest travelers in the area would be the the Henri-Chapelle American Military Cemetery, that is only a couple of kilometers away. Very moving to sit quietly, and look at all those white crosses. The second is one of the best restaurants we have been too, ever. Mal and Mani took us to the “Le Cochon Embouteille” (Pig in a Bottle – don't ask or they will show it to you) in Plombieres, near Liege. Tiny place, run by friends of theirs who prepared the Vegan stuff needed to nourish them, while delighting us carnivores with superbly prepared local foods.
Rested in the glow of family, we took another train from Liege to Amsterdam. No problem, except we had to change trains in Maastricht. The schedule said we had six minutes to make the transfer, so we were a bit anxious as we pulled into the station late. We grabbed our bags and stood in the vestibule as we pulled in, along with a number of other people. I asked if anyone new which platform our train left from. “This one”, they said. “This train is often late, so you will really have to rush!” The train stopped, the doors opened, and there was a train standing across the platform with its doors open. Hopeing it was the right one we literally ran across the platform, through the doors, along with a rush of others, the doors snapped on our coat tails and away we went.
No reserved seats on this train, and it was very crowded. We went into the first carriage, but there were no seats together. I glance over to an older couple sitting opposite one another, with their bags on the other seat. The gray haired gentleman glanced up and said, in English, plenty of seats in the back. We are easy, so we walked back further in the train to find the next carriage up was first class. We sat there for a bit, but I knew the conductor would come eventually and turf us out. “To hell with this”, I thought. I was a bit ticked at being sent on a wild goose chase. Motioned DW to follow and walked back to the couple that had turned us away.. A young lady across the isle from that couple saw Annette looking, and removed her bags from the seat beside her so DW could sit down. I turned to the gentleman who had shooed us away, glared at him, and announced, “There were no seats where you told us. I am going to sit here”, indicating the seat with his wife's baggage on it. Now, I have been practicing that glare for a long time. Began in my youth as a Marine MP, and used it in Government as I worked my way up the ladder. I give good glare, if I must say so myself. His wife hastily moved her stuff and I sat down, while he retreated behind his newspaper. Rather tense couple of hours.
Amsterdam next.
The other thing I should say about the Paris portion of the trip is that I did too much planning, I think. We made the decision a year in advance, and I figured, realistically, that this might be my last trip, I started following travel blogs more closely, studied French, got new guidebooks, and started making lists. That last part was my downfall. I have many, many, pages of notes about fascinating things to do and see in Paris. We saw very few of them. There are over 150 museums in Paris, you know, and I went to only a handful. I started a list of restaurants recommended by travelers in their trip reports, and started a Google map of their locations. By the time we left, I had 142 moderately priced restaurants listed at which we could get a good lunch. Somehow, we ate at none of them, so I feel a bit of a failure in that regard.
There will be other times, said he, hopefully.
We had not decided what we were going to do with the rest of the trip. I knew we would be spending a planned few days with my oldest Son in Belgium, but didn't really want to hang around Paris without Dan and Amy. We wanted to see other parts of France, and considered getting a cheapo hotel, and doing day trips. Also thought about simply jumping to a different French town with a different flavor, like Strasbourg, but that would have meant a lot of back tracking on the train. We finally decided to go straight to Welkenraedt in Belgium, spend a few days, and then head to Amsterdam for our last four days before flying home. I used to know Amsterdam well, and was anxious to show it to Annette, who had only spent a short time there many years ago.
First, Belgium. We caught a TGV from Gare du Nord to Liege, Belgium, where Son picked us up and drove about a half hour to his place. My first Son, Mal, and his lady, Mani, live on a farm near the town of Welkenraedt, which is close to the German border. Aachen is the closest big German city. We have a new Grand Daughter, who is nine months old, who we just had to see. We accomplished that mission and were able to reacquaint ourselves with the family, and the farm, and kick back for a bit. Nothing much about this portion of the trip to interest travelers except for the farm. My Son and his love, who is German, bought this 400 year old farmhouse on what had been a dairy farm for many generations. The family business is the running of sales booths (they call them “huts”), in German Christmas Markets, which they set up in various cities in early November, and run through Christmas. This year they had huts in five cities. They work like crazy people from mid Summer, through Xmas, then head to Goa in India for a month or so to recuperate with Yoga and cleansing diets, then off to wander the back roads of Kasmir and other out of the way places to find, buy, and have shipped, the goods they will sell in the huts the following Winter. By early Spring they are back on the farm, again working like crazy people on the land and house.
In 15 years they have turned the place from a cattle feeding yard, with soil as hard a concrete, and no nutrients at all in it, to a literal Garden of Eden. They are Vegan, and grow almost all of their vegetables in a series of gardens and greenhouses. They have planted hundreds of fruit trees, rebuilt the stone house, and added to it extensively, as well as building new storehouse for the market stock, and workshops.
The place, and their lifestyle takes an incredible amount of effort and dedication, so we hesitate to visit with them long, as our coming puts an absolute halt to constructive, and maintenance activities on the property. When we come, everything stops. Period. We feel pampered, and guilty at the same time. We know we could go there and stay forever, but then we would have to join the frantic work schedule they must maintain, or feel even more guilty.
Two things that might interest travelers in the area would be the the Henri-Chapelle American Military Cemetery, that is only a couple of kilometers away. Very moving to sit quietly, and look at all those white crosses. The second is one of the best restaurants we have been too, ever. Mal and Mani took us to the “Le Cochon Embouteille” (Pig in a Bottle – don't ask or they will show it to you) in Plombieres, near Liege. Tiny place, run by friends of theirs who prepared the Vegan stuff needed to nourish them, while delighting us carnivores with superbly prepared local foods.
Rested in the glow of family, we took another train from Liege to Amsterdam. No problem, except we had to change trains in Maastricht. The schedule said we had six minutes to make the transfer, so we were a bit anxious as we pulled into the station late. We grabbed our bags and stood in the vestibule as we pulled in, along with a number of other people. I asked if anyone new which platform our train left from. “This one”, they said. “This train is often late, so you will really have to rush!” The train stopped, the doors opened, and there was a train standing across the platform with its doors open. Hopeing it was the right one we literally ran across the platform, through the doors, along with a rush of others, the doors snapped on our coat tails and away we went.
No reserved seats on this train, and it was very crowded. We went into the first carriage, but there were no seats together. I glance over to an older couple sitting opposite one another, with their bags on the other seat. The gray haired gentleman glanced up and said, in English, plenty of seats in the back. We are easy, so we walked back further in the train to find the next carriage up was first class. We sat there for a bit, but I knew the conductor would come eventually and turf us out. “To hell with this”, I thought. I was a bit ticked at being sent on a wild goose chase. Motioned DW to follow and walked back to the couple that had turned us away.. A young lady across the isle from that couple saw Annette looking, and removed her bags from the seat beside her so DW could sit down. I turned to the gentleman who had shooed us away, glared at him, and announced, “There were no seats where you told us. I am going to sit here”, indicating the seat with his wife's baggage on it. Now, I have been practicing that glare for a long time. Began in my youth as a Marine MP, and used it in Government as I worked my way up the ladder. I give good glare, if I must say so myself. His wife hastily moved her stuff and I sat down, while he retreated behind his newspaper. Rather tense couple of hours.
Amsterdam next.
Jun 17th, 2011, 12:23 PM
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Nukesafe: Quite fascinating about your son's life in Belgium, sounds as though the ideal life requires very hard work, but is probably very rewarding for them. You should be very proud of your son's efforts.
Funny you should mention lists. We are going to France (Dordogne and Paris) in Sept.Oct. this year, and my list of lists is already out of hand. Plus I keep sending great ideas/websites/restaurant reviews, etc. to our traveling companions!
I'm thinking I'd better stop or they will be ready to delete my email address from their computers. and I'm also thinking, when will I ever organize all this "stuff?"
You've given me pause to slow down, and cool it a bit. Thanks
Funny you should mention lists. We are going to France (Dordogne and Paris) in Sept.Oct. this year, and my list of lists is already out of hand. Plus I keep sending great ideas/websites/restaurant reviews, etc. to our traveling companions!
I'm thinking I'd better stop or they will be ready to delete my email address from their computers. and I'm also thinking, when will I ever organize all this "stuff?"
You've given me pause to slow down, and cool it a bit. Thanks
Jun 18th, 2011, 09:10 AM
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We arrived at Centraal Station in the evening, and started on our little housing misadventure. I have reported this in a separate thread, titled, “Bad Rental Experience in Amsterdam”, which you can read if interested: http://www.fodors.com/community/euro...-amsterdam.cfm Basically, the room we had rented for four nights, through Airbnb, was not a “private” room, as advertized, as it did not have a door for privacy and/or security, and nine people would be using the single bathroom. We did not stay, and had to scramble to find a place to lay our heads late that evening.
The hotel we found was a gem, we thought. The hotel Nadia http://www.tassenmuseum.nl/en stay is reviewed in the other thread.
Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, the stay in Amsterdam was just lovely.
We just decided to wing it for those four days. I had done zero research on Amsterdam, and had no lists. Annette had an app on her iPad2 that showed us our position at any time, so we didn't even need to buy maps. We just wandered a lot. We like street markets, and went to several, as well as an open air art market. The weather was fine, except some brief showers one evening, and wandering from stall to stall, chatting to the owners, was great. I collect old tools, and I picked up an antique wooden molding plane for much less than I would have happily paid in a garage sale in my town. Actually bargained down a Dutchman, of which I am inordinately proud.
We also looked at the studios that sell glass art. We had looked for such in Paris, and found none. In Amsterdam we found two very good ones, and several galleries that had a few pieces. We talked at length with the owners of the two galleries, and found out that art in Holland is selling about the same as in the Pacific North West --- not at all. One lady had not sold a piece the entire month of April. Happily, she sold a large fused plate while we were there. I played the casual customer while she was ringing the sale up, and wandered over to speak to the buyers. I told them I had been admiring that piece, and congratulated them on their wise purchase. They were smiling with pleasure, and the store owner gave me a big wink as we left.
We also were able to talk to some of the glass artists. One thing we found out is that they buy most of the glass they use to make their pieces from a firm called Bullseye Glass, which is where Annette buys hers. The difference is we can drive down to Portland, OR, and pick ours out ourselves. They have to buy from a catalog, pay big shipping charges, and wait for a long time. They were envious.
What to do in Amsterdam, other than wander around? We had both been to the Van Gogh pretty recently. We had both seen the Anne Frank house years before. The Rijksmuseum is closed for renovation. The newer Hermitage looked mobbed, so we decided not to decide and picked lesser venues almost at random.
We went to the Tulip museum, http://www.amsterdamtulipmuseum.com/ which was small, but actually gave us a lot of history of the tulip that we had not known. The Skagit Valley, where we live is, I think, the world's second largest tulip producer outside of the Netherlands. We have our own Tulip Festival in the Spring each year, but we still learned a lot we did not know.
On another impulse we went to the Bols Museum. http://www.houseofbols.com/main.asp Now the visit to the “House of Bols” was a FUN visit. Bols is a huge worldwide producer of Genever, and liqueurs. I started to say they invented gin, but that word is a dirty word at Bols. Lucas Bols developed the recipe for Genever in 1575. The recipe it covers two pages of his notebook; which is on display. The English later squeezed juniper berries into cheap grain spirits and called it “Gin”. Anyway, the Bols House is housed in an award winning building, that is also a bartender training school. One takes the tour, going from display to display. What is different is much of it is sensory. One tries little tabs of flavor to determine your favorites, which you write down. Then you enter a room that has many brightly colored bottles of their various liqueurs in scent bottles. You go down the line squeezing bulbs that blow he essence of the liqueurs at you to sniff and record what your favorite of these happens to be.
At the end of the tour you get to enter the bar room and lounge, where a crew of professional or trainee bartenders will mix you a cocktail of your choice made with Bols, and give you two shots of the liqueurs you have chosen. Great fun watching those guys sling the booze, and even more fun drinking it.
Perhaps it will surprise you guys that the museum in Amsterdam that I liked the best was the Tassenmuseum – The Museum of Bags and Purses http://www.tassenmuseum.nl/en Annette wanted to go, so we went. It was delightful! The building used to be a house built for the Major of Amsterdam, and it is lovely, lovely structure. It has a central spiral stairway that seems to ascend to the sky, and is beautifully furnished.
What I liked about it most was that I did not have to see the damned purses. The second floor is a classically decorated lounge. One room following another, each with tables and cozy overstuffed chairs, and a sun room that looks over a garden. I gratefully let DW explore the floor after floor of bags and purses, which she said were breathtaking, while I sat at a table on the sun porch, reading the International Herald Tribune for a long, long, time. While I did this, a lovely young Dutch girl kept bringing me beer and things to nibble. Oh bliss, oh joy ---
After all too short a time Annette came back and joined me briefly before using the facilities. She came back and said she had to take pictures of each of the beautifully decorated stalls in the ladies room. Each had a niche built into the back wall that contained a spectacular handbag. I used the men's and saw no handbags, thank goodness, but did take a picture of the first and only urinal I have seen that had a hinged lid.
All was well, until we left and Annette saw the handbag of her dreams in the gift shop. We left, but only got about a block away when I said, “Oh, for goodness sake, go back and buy the damned thing! You know the only things we regret are the things we did not do, or the things we did not buy.”
It is a lovely bag.
The trip back to Seattle was uneventful, except for the too long layover in Iceland, where I confirmed the observation I had made on the stop coming over, that nothing higher than about eight inches seems to grow in that country.
The seats were just as uncomfortable going back, as well.
All in all, a great trip. We saw Paris with good friends, who remain our good friends even after living with us for ten days. We connected with family. We had an enjoyable stay in Holland. Most of all, we had all sorts of those little unexpected adventures and pratfalls that we will remember, and bore dinner companions with for years.
Health and finances allowing, we will be back in a couple of years. Just think of all the lists I can generate in that length of time!
The hotel we found was a gem, we thought. The hotel Nadia http://www.tassenmuseum.nl/en stay is reviewed in the other thread.
Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, the stay in Amsterdam was just lovely.
We just decided to wing it for those four days. I had done zero research on Amsterdam, and had no lists. Annette had an app on her iPad2 that showed us our position at any time, so we didn't even need to buy maps. We just wandered a lot. We like street markets, and went to several, as well as an open air art market. The weather was fine, except some brief showers one evening, and wandering from stall to stall, chatting to the owners, was great. I collect old tools, and I picked up an antique wooden molding plane for much less than I would have happily paid in a garage sale in my town. Actually bargained down a Dutchman, of which I am inordinately proud.
We also looked at the studios that sell glass art. We had looked for such in Paris, and found none. In Amsterdam we found two very good ones, and several galleries that had a few pieces. We talked at length with the owners of the two galleries, and found out that art in Holland is selling about the same as in the Pacific North West --- not at all. One lady had not sold a piece the entire month of April. Happily, she sold a large fused plate while we were there. I played the casual customer while she was ringing the sale up, and wandered over to speak to the buyers. I told them I had been admiring that piece, and congratulated them on their wise purchase. They were smiling with pleasure, and the store owner gave me a big wink as we left.
We also were able to talk to some of the glass artists. One thing we found out is that they buy most of the glass they use to make their pieces from a firm called Bullseye Glass, which is where Annette buys hers. The difference is we can drive down to Portland, OR, and pick ours out ourselves. They have to buy from a catalog, pay big shipping charges, and wait for a long time. They were envious.
What to do in Amsterdam, other than wander around? We had both been to the Van Gogh pretty recently. We had both seen the Anne Frank house years before. The Rijksmuseum is closed for renovation. The newer Hermitage looked mobbed, so we decided not to decide and picked lesser venues almost at random.
We went to the Tulip museum, http://www.amsterdamtulipmuseum.com/ which was small, but actually gave us a lot of history of the tulip that we had not known. The Skagit Valley, where we live is, I think, the world's second largest tulip producer outside of the Netherlands. We have our own Tulip Festival in the Spring each year, but we still learned a lot we did not know.
On another impulse we went to the Bols Museum. http://www.houseofbols.com/main.asp Now the visit to the “House of Bols” was a FUN visit. Bols is a huge worldwide producer of Genever, and liqueurs. I started to say they invented gin, but that word is a dirty word at Bols. Lucas Bols developed the recipe for Genever in 1575. The recipe it covers two pages of his notebook; which is on display. The English later squeezed juniper berries into cheap grain spirits and called it “Gin”. Anyway, the Bols House is housed in an award winning building, that is also a bartender training school. One takes the tour, going from display to display. What is different is much of it is sensory. One tries little tabs of flavor to determine your favorites, which you write down. Then you enter a room that has many brightly colored bottles of their various liqueurs in scent bottles. You go down the line squeezing bulbs that blow he essence of the liqueurs at you to sniff and record what your favorite of these happens to be.
At the end of the tour you get to enter the bar room and lounge, where a crew of professional or trainee bartenders will mix you a cocktail of your choice made with Bols, and give you two shots of the liqueurs you have chosen. Great fun watching those guys sling the booze, and even more fun drinking it.
Perhaps it will surprise you guys that the museum in Amsterdam that I liked the best was the Tassenmuseum – The Museum of Bags and Purses http://www.tassenmuseum.nl/en Annette wanted to go, so we went. It was delightful! The building used to be a house built for the Major of Amsterdam, and it is lovely, lovely structure. It has a central spiral stairway that seems to ascend to the sky, and is beautifully furnished.
What I liked about it most was that I did not have to see the damned purses. The second floor is a classically decorated lounge. One room following another, each with tables and cozy overstuffed chairs, and a sun room that looks over a garden. I gratefully let DW explore the floor after floor of bags and purses, which she said were breathtaking, while I sat at a table on the sun porch, reading the International Herald Tribune for a long, long, time. While I did this, a lovely young Dutch girl kept bringing me beer and things to nibble. Oh bliss, oh joy ---
After all too short a time Annette came back and joined me briefly before using the facilities. She came back and said she had to take pictures of each of the beautifully decorated stalls in the ladies room. Each had a niche built into the back wall that contained a spectacular handbag. I used the men's and saw no handbags, thank goodness, but did take a picture of the first and only urinal I have seen that had a hinged lid.
All was well, until we left and Annette saw the handbag of her dreams in the gift shop. We left, but only got about a block away when I said, “Oh, for goodness sake, go back and buy the damned thing! You know the only things we regret are the things we did not do, or the things we did not buy.”
It is a lovely bag.
The trip back to Seattle was uneventful, except for the too long layover in Iceland, where I confirmed the observation I had made on the stop coming over, that nothing higher than about eight inches seems to grow in that country.
The seats were just as uncomfortable going back, as well.
All in all, a great trip. We saw Paris with good friends, who remain our good friends even after living with us for ten days. We connected with family. We had an enjoyable stay in Holland. Most of all, we had all sorts of those little unexpected adventures and pratfalls that we will remember, and bore dinner companions with for years.
Health and finances allowing, we will be back in a couple of years. Just think of all the lists I can generate in that length of time!
Jun 18th, 2011, 10:55 AM
#35
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Sorry, I forgot to post a link to a few photos. https://picasaweb.google.com/Nukesaf...CJTxp5z_sLXHJw
Jun 18th, 2011, 11:00 AM
#36
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I thoroughly enjoyed every bit of your report, so thanks! DD leave out of SEA this week for Paris and I fly out at the end of her study abroad term. I have always wanted to do a layover in Iceland out of curiosity, but we used miles and so options were limited for both of us.
I got a good laugh about what you said to Annette about the purse. DH learned that same lessons years ago and says the same types of things to me. Smart men
Now to go check out your photos.
I got a good laugh about what you said to Annette about the purse. DH learned that same lessons years ago and says the same types of things to me. Smart men
Now to go check out your photos.
Jun 18th, 2011, 08:27 PM
#39
You write like a gentleman. (I mean that as a compliment, by the way.) What a pleasure it's been to travel vicariously with you and Annette, Dick and Amy. Your anarchist looks like my dad crossed with Pablo Picasso. Hmm.
