We
stayed out late on Monday night so waking up Tuesday morning wasn't fun. The alarm went off at 5:15 and we were
both up shortly thereafter showering, packing and preparing for our journey to
Amsterdam. As we were leaving
Mena's backpack hit a picture on the wall and the picture fell and the glass
broke. Oh well. We took the broken picture and pieces
of glass off the floor and wall and threw it in the trash outside.
The
walk to Paris Nord station was 1.5 miles.
It was most definitely a good / painful way to wake up…slugging through
the pre-dawn streets of Paris with forty pounds of gear on your back. Mena was a real trooper and did her
part to carry bags that were (seemingly) bigger than her.
Paris
Nord station, like all the train stations I’ve seen in Europe, was big and grand
and elegant. It’s the busiest
train terminal in Europe with 190 million travelers passing through the
concourse each year. The interior
and exterior of the train station are recognizable as they have been featured
in countless films (as of late the Bourne Identity, The Bourne Ultimatum and
Ocean’s Twelve) and books (DaVinci Code).
Mena
and I arrived a half hour before our train departed. We ate pastries and drank coffee as we waited underneath the
massive screen telling us which track we’d be travelling on.
The
high speed Thalys train from Paris to Amsterdam was nice. Aside from a girl across the aisle that
kept sneezing it was a quiet and smooth ride. It’s hard to believe it reached speeds of 186 MPH…it felt
like we were barely moving save for the entire train leaning gently from side
to side as we hit the turns.
Mena
passed out and I became completely engrossed in Ernest Hemingway’s posthumous
novel, “A Moveable Feast” which detailed his time in Paris between 1921 – 1926
when he was rendezvousing with the likes of F. Scott Fitzgerald, James Joyce,
Gertrude Stein, Ezra Pound and Pablo Picasso. The book is fascinating as it gives you a behind the scenes
look at the struggles that Ernest and Scott faced as young writers. It’s also interesting because it
provides specific addresses of cafés, bars and hotel which still exist in
Paris.
"If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a
young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you,
for Paris is a moveable feast.”
Our
hotel was a ten-minute walk from Centraal Station. We had lunch, changed and walked to (Momma Singh close your
eyes) the red light district. As
we wandered through the incredibly confusing streets of Amsterdam with our
tourist-issued map we came behind a man walking down the street in a
garbage-green hood. Judging by his struggling, awkward gate I thought he was
old. I watched as he picked up a
half-smoked cigarette from the floor and put in his mouth. When we walked in front of him I was
shocked to find he was a young kid.
A 25-year-old in a 55-year-old body. His face had been ravaged by whatever his vice was –
alcohol, drugs...whatever. Scary to see someone so young and lost. He
was anywhere but Amsterdam.
We
just did a casual walk through of the red light district. Women behind glass paneled booths
accosted men walking down the street.
It was pretty weird to see it out in the open like that.
After
the red light district we did a complete 180 and went to the Anne Frank Museum. I remember reading Ann Frank’s diary as
a child. As my mother can attest I
didn't like it...it was, literally, my least favorite book as an adolescent. But it resonates more now that I was
able to sit in the room she wrote it in.
The whole thing was tragic and touching. She was an incredibly precocious and talented writer (and
person) and it’s a shame she had to die.
At least she died for something and her legacy continues.
After
the Anne Frank museum we walked past the posh neighborhoods of Amsterdam. My biggest take away from the trip to
Amsterdam thus far is that the city gets a bad rap for the red light district
but not enough credit for everything surrounding it – it is a profoundly
beautiful, progressive and cultured city. Not all about weed and prostitutes.
Afterwards
we went to Leidse Square and Mena ate bratwurst for the first time.
“What’s
in this?” She asked me.
I
smiled. "Sometimes it's
better not to know."
We
took the tram back to our hotel and napped and read and wrote. Later we took the tram out to an Indonesian
Restaurant where we ate various 'rice plates' which I'd never heard of before
but which are small amuse-bouche servings of various Indonesian foods – a lot
of coconut milk, stewed meats and vegetables. It was Mena’s idea and decision and it was excellent.
We
took the tram back with young kids looking for red light district.
“They
all look so young.” Mena said.
‘They
are.”
I
guess some of the appeal of going to these places fades as you get older.
Or maybe not. I
guess it all depends.
:)
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