Amsterdam - Day One

Friday morning. Woke to the realisation that I didn’t know anything about Amsterdam. After some diligent internet research at work, I found myself rushing to meet Anna at Waterloo station, for the express train to Heathrow. To be honest, I’m not sure it was worth the £30 when compared to the Piccadilly line, but you know how travel = panic stations.

Our Netherlands experience began right away, with airline safety instructions in Dutch, and cheese sandwiches with mini Heineken cans for dinner. Mmmm. Well, I enjoyed the cheese sandwich at least.

After a pleasant flight, we stopped to pick up our 3 day tourism and travel tickets, and caught our first tram to the hostel. Stepping inside we were immediately confronted with a ladder-like staircase! Apparently people were taxed according to the width of their house, so everyone built narrow, but very tall, houses. Yikes! Not the greatest to navigate a) when wearing a backpack, or b) after drinking a lot of Dutch beer.

Apparently, our hostel was owned by a kiwi couple – there was a nice painting of a tui on a kowhai plant above the exit – and by coincidence, the first person we met was a fellow Aucklander. Small world. After dumping our gear in our room, we popped out for drinks with our new acquaintance, Bruce, drummer (Xanadu, Cat Cat Cat) and music enthusiast. Our first stop was a nearby absinthe bar, as I was keen to try the famous “green fairy” so favoured of artists and aesthetes.

There are a fair few myths surrounding absinthe, which, alongside its famously ritualised preparation, have considerably built up the drink’s mystique. However, these are mostly just that, myths. Stripped of the nonsense regarding hallucinogenic properties (this was due to methanol contamination in cheap bootleg brands of the 19th Century), absinthe is simply a herbal spirit, derived from the flowers and leaves of the bitter wormwood plant, and flavoured with aniseed.

Anna and I tried a 130 proof Spanish absinthe, which was atypically red. Bruce went for a more authentic green, but 150 proof specimen. After pouring the absinthe, the bargirl placed a slotted spoon over the glass. She then placed a sugarcube on the spoon, and set it on fire. (It is sometimes claimed that this step – i.e. the fiery sugarcube - is old and traditional. However, it was developed by Czech manufacturers in the late 1990s as a marketing tool.) The sugarcube is then dropped into the drink, and water added to taste. This makes the drink very cloudy (called “louching”).

To be honest, it’s a pretty grim drink – oily and very alcoholic – and though I enjoyed the herby taste, I think I’ll stick to Jägermeister.

From here we went to a beer connoisseur bar, and enjoyed several tasty brews (and one not so tasty). Best pick: Bourgogne des Flandres, a nutty brown beer. Worst pick: a glass of vinegar masquerading as a Grand Cru beer.