"All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware."
—Martin Buber
But let me set the stage for you now as I recall, for the record, its drama, violence, outrage, cat and mouse hijinks, Facebook war and even a chase up Leidsestraat in which I pursued Professor Stinky, a friend-turned-criminal, to Dam Square, where the search continued via videotape in parked Dutch Politie mobiles. Names have been changed to protect the guilty, but you know who you are.
It all began when my doorbell rang three days after I moved into my apartment in the Jordaan, once Amsterdam's district for the desperate, now the haunt of artists, intellectuals and fashionistas. It was the shoarma guy; he was unexpected.
Mixing visuals @ Supperclub |
"You did not order shoarma for 12?" the strange voice demanded. "Met garlic sauce?
"No! Nay!" I banged down the intercom.
The bell rang again, more insistently. "Hahaha," the familiar voice chirped in a Dutch accent. It was Jan, a 40-something aroma jockey I'd met through a mutual friend in 2008. An olfactory artist who mixes aromas in nightclubs, restaurants, museums and other special event venues—just as DJs combine tunes and VJs mix visuals—Jan (aka Professor Stinky) and his Ministry of Nonsense aim to make scents at dance, food, art and fashion-related parties.
"No! Nay!" I banged down the intercom.
The bell rang again, more insistently. "Hahaha," the familiar voice chirped in a Dutch accent. It was Jan, a 40-something aroma jockey I'd met through a mutual friend in 2008. An olfactory artist who mixes aromas in nightclubs, restaurants, museums and other special event venues—just as DJs combine tunes and VJs mix visuals—Jan (aka Professor Stinky) and his Ministry of Nonsense aim to make scents at dance, food, art and fashion-related parties.
"My pole," Jan moaned, caressing it. |
When the elevator opened to reveal his shaggy countenance, I breathed in his earthy scent, turning my face for the traditional Dutch greeting: three kisses, alternating cheeks. He introduced me to Bill, an American expat who'd come along for the visit.
Bill |
"OK, we'll negotiate," I laughed, wondering about Jan's vision. The evening ended with me handing him keys to my apartment. The deal: free room, board and PR services in exchange for decorating talent and assistance with schlepping around furniture, light fixtures and all the other things it takes to set up house and assimilate into Dutch culture.
I Smell a Rat
Howie and me at Supperclub |
Alas, the signs of psychosis started early, but I could not see the red flags until it was too late. I'll save them for the memoir...along with the rest of the story about having Jan arrested at Supperclub for his stab at home terrorism, grand theft and destruction of property.
Travel Blogging in Copenhagen
Kings Gardens, Copenhagen |
Lola and Urban |
Turkeys and Menorahs
When I returned, I tracked down a turkey—no easy feat in Holland—for Thanksgiving. Longtime friends Rod, Miriam and Zara Heydon; Nica (American expat/chef/sailor/luxury tour director) and her partner Christine; Bill (Hunter's Coffeeshop dealer/local bad boy) and Burt, my Surinamese friend, came by tram, foot and bike for the feast. A week later, we celebrated Hanukah with potato latkes and a menorah fashioned from votive candles. Zara's friend, Rachel, said the blessing.
Holiday Magic
By Sinterklaas' (the Dutch Santa Claus) arrival via steamboat from Spain in late November, several inches of snow lay on the ground. Unlike America's Santa, Sinterklaas is quite dashing with his white mane, crimson regalia, gold crown and hunky build. But he is not so politically correct; indeed, his alliance with Zwarte Piet, the young black helper who accompanies him down chimneys of well-behaved Dutchies, has caused considerable uproar. Innocent little ones may tell you his face gets blackened with soot, but contemporary folklore maintains Piet was freed from slavery by St. Nick and willingly chose to follow him.
Amsterdam is now magnificent with holiday lights, ice skating rinks, frozen canals, snow-filled boats, oliebol (Dutch donuts) and mulled wine. But the icy stuff is deadly. So I light a fire and watch the cyclists peddle by, making me dream of California where my friends are riding in shorts and t-shirts. Rod broke his arm, slipping on the ice and numerous friends have fallen from their fiets (bikes), riding on the slick cobblestones.
So I'm escaping to Thailand for a writers retreat on New Year's Day. After the five-day conference in Chiang Mai, I'll spend two weeks checking out temples, hill tribes and handicrafts in northern Thailand, then explore Bangkok and southern islands. I welcome suggestions for this upcoming trip.
So I'm escaping to Thailand for a writers retreat on New Year's Day. After the five-day conference in Chiang Mai, I'll spend two weeks checking out temples, hill tribes and handicrafts in northern Thailand, then explore Bangkok and southern islands. I welcome suggestions for this upcoming trip.
I look forward to seeing many California friends at the BCI banquet on January 29 and at my "Over the Hump: Egypt by Bike" presentation at the February 24 BCI General Meeting in beautiful Irvine, California. Mark your calendars!
If you're traveling in 2011, I hope you'll visit me in Amsterdam, where I'd be happy to share my passion for what is still, for me, the most magical city on Earth. All the best for the New Year; may you follow your own dreams, finding peace and happiness wherever they may lead you.
What an exciting year it has been for you Melissa! So happy to have met you and can call you friend.
ReplyDeleteHave a wonderful time in Thailand and see you soon!
Hugs