Ah, Paris!

The first thing I did in Paris was smoke a bowl.

Because it's SO fucking easy to take pot from Amsterdam to Paris on the train.

Security check points?

BWHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Non.

Anyway, after that, and a shower, I walked from my hotel to the Modern Art Museum called the Centre Pompidou. I didn't go in ... just walked around because, HELLO, I'm in Paris and I just want to walk around and soak up PARIS.

Because it's PARIS!

The weather so far is kind of blah. It reminds me of San Francisco, but colder. Inclimate weather. Suddenly, it starts to pour. Then you look up, and can see that one neighborhood over, it's sunny.

Anyway, I just wandered. And took some pictures. And went back to my hotel for a nap. Then headed out for dinner. Intimidated, I chose the least intimidating place, which turned out, I would learn, to be the Parisien equivalent of Marie Callendar's, called Bistro Romain.

When my server spoke to me in French, I must have seemed like Gump. Or at least like a deer caught in the headlights.


Uh ....

The next morning, a brassierie near my hotel. Similar experience with the waitress, but I tried to be as polite as possible, so she was a little nicer to me. I know un petit peu du francais. But when the French speak to me, they might as well be speaking Swahili. And I don't want to mangle their beautiful language, so I feel self conscious. I know the stereotypical parisien hatred of "les americans", and I don't want to seem like some stupid midwestern tourist who thinks speaking english LOUDER means my server will understand me.

From there, which is basically La Republique, I walked to La Bastille. I attempted to buy the Carte Musee for entrance to all of the museums at the FNAC (french version of Virgin music stores) ticket counter, but when I asked the ticket agent if she spoke english (in my mangled french), she just replied, "Pas de tout!"

Which roughly translated means "Fuck you, stupid, lazy american tourist! I speak english, but this is france, so parlez francais, mentenon!"

Crap! that meant I had to mangle it even more.

"Je voudrais achete un carte musees"

"Non!!"

Her companion told me to try the Metro. The Metro yielded the same results.

Fuck you! Time Out - Paris.

Ok, so, then I decided to try one of the Museums.

So I walked to Notre Dame, but the line there was huge. Then I realized the line is only for the people wanting to go to the towers .... the main chappel is free, so I went in. It was built near the same time as Westminster Abbey, but didn't affect me nearly as much. Weird, given Westminster is anglican and I was raised Catholic. Anyway, the most moving part for me was the chapel of St. Jeanne d'Arc.

On the way out, I donated 2 euros to the nun, for my grandmother, who is devoutly catholic and who will appreciate my gesture.

Then on to the Musee d'Orsay, still determined to buy Le Carte. 45 euros buys you 4 days access to all the museums you can manage. Quite a deal. The BEST part is, it means you don't have to wait in the lines to get in. But you DO have to wait in line to buy it, and the line for Orsay was HUGE.

I almost gave up, but instead walked to Les Jardins Rodin, where you can walk amongst a garden of roses and view Rodin's sculptures.

JACKPOT!

I bought the carte, and went into the museum, spending hours wandering around and snapping pictures to share. The Thinker is humbling. One of those well-known pieces of art that, when you see it, takes your breath away. Niblet liked it, too.

City of Perpetual Indulgence

Amsterdam, Saturday

Food.

I've eaten way too much of it since my departure, and not in healthy ways. I have to be careful or I'll gain back what I've recently lost. But healthy food isn't exactly the fortè of the Dutch. And I am determined to eat well this trip; last night a quintessential Dutch Agrentinian steakhouse for vegetable soup, salad & grilled steak. And way too much wine. Somewhere in the metric to english conversion I decided 1/2 L was the same as 1/2 a bottle of wine, which I can handle. But 3 coffeshops, 3 kinds of pot and 3/4 of a bottle of wine (because a bottle is only 750 ml) later, after little sleep in 36 hours - I was falling asleep at the table.

Tonight, I'm hand-writing this into a journal from a spanish tapas place in the Red Light District, called Manolo. I'm drinking a rosado and eating the delicious garlic bread my waiter just brought me: it's covered with a light, garlicky tomato sauce and a sprinkling of mozzarella cheese. I have calamari a la romana (breaded & fried) coming, a spanish version of caprese (mozzarella, tomato & herb - with onion slices), and paella a la valencia (with chicken & fish).

Ah, my starters are here.

* * *

I had never had paella before. It was really fucking good! Much like risotto, although some of the ingredients are cooked separately and added last; before it is finished in the oven. I ordered way more than I could eat, but Amsterdam is the city of perpetual indulgence, and at least for this first weekend of my trip, I am going to indulge. Pot. Food. Booze. Sex, if I can manage.

I suppose the fact that I've been stoned and acting allergic to maps will help with the caloric indulgence - I keep getting lost and spending an hour backtracking to the point I went astray. Since the train from Schipol to Central station, with the exception of the canal cruise I took Niblet on insteqd of waiting 3 hour in line for the Van Gogh museum, my only transportation has been my two feet. And seals get heavy.

* * *

My waiter, Rafa (Rafaél) just brought me an apertif from his home town of Barcelona. I have NO idea what it is, but it tastes like a combination of hazelnut and vanilla; I'm guessing some kind of brandy derivative.

He also gave me his email address and telephone number.

Pity for that wedding ring on his finger.

* * *

My name is Serre, and I like frites with frites sauce (french fries with mayo)

* * *

Sunday

Took Niblet for his first dutch pancake: with ham, cheese & pineapple. Dutch pancakes are more like crepes than what we have in the US; thin and very light, lending themselves to sweet or savory toppings. Set to the soundtrqcks of Grease & Dirty Dancing.

Then to Abraxas for a hash choco milkshake. MMMMMM.

Just before dinner, I headed to the Torture Museum. It was very disappointing, only a cursory look at its subject; with only some information pertaining to the witch hunt and the Inquisition. The first thing you see are pillories and stalks. Reminded me a bit of Power Exchange. Then you wander up and down 3 levels made to look like a dungeon.

Torture devices I haven't heard of that I must research:

The Pear
The Scavenger's Daughter

Should I have been as turned on as I was by the picture of a woman with a collar around her neck, attached by a chain to a post, with her ankles shackled to said post and hands tied behind her back?

Right ... indulgence.

* * *

Finished the night with a tour through the seedier parts of the Red Light District (I needed to make a purchase, and since the RLD was so close to my hotel ... not human flesh, because RLD whores aren't exactly my aesthetic)

I was offered money by a group of men. One of the door men of one of the whore houses tried to get me to come work for him. The one S&M club I saw, the "mistress" in the window wasn't at all attractive. She couldn't hold a candle to BossLadyMan.

it's a good thing Niblet is Fierce!

Friday - My arrival

When you've been someplace before, you don't have that first breathtaking moment of discovery when you return. The magic of the unknown is replaced by the comfort of familiarity. It's not a bad thing or a good thing, it just is.

That's the way I feel about Amsterdam now. It doesn't feel "foreign" to me, although the people sound that way. There is a group speaking German to my left. A couple speaking French are sitting in what used to be a jail cell. Oh, right. This coffeeshop used to be a Politie station. The cell wall is now lined with pictures of a complex hash making process. I just paid the US equivalent of $15 for half an 1/8th, and I'm sitting here with my seal, a cappuccino and pipe full of AK47.

I do love this city.

It's like San Francisco ... stoned.

***

I can't get over how different it is for me this time. I understand why - 50 lbs. is a *lot*. In the 3 years since my Amsterdam New Year's Eve, I've lost close to 50 lbs, more than 25% of my former body weight. I guess I just didn't expect it would make this much of a difference in my treatment here. But the responses I'm getting from men are a lot more than I expected, and I now completely understand why everyone kept telling me to avoid eye contact with European men.

I don't remember catching the eye of the guy who asked me to escort him to the next canal foot bridge under my umbrella, but it was clear when we reached his "destination" and he asked what I was doing just then, that he'd had more than a few dry steps in mind. Right. I was just trying to get to Leidseplein from Dam Square by memory (I had a map, but I wanted to try without it ... I got lost).

From discussions with other women who've traveled alone, I knew that if I didn't escape this situation now, I wasn't getting out of it any time soon. This is the beginning of a seduction that begins with him asking you for help and ends, presumably, with you in his bed. Not that he was unattractive, not at all. He reminded me of this French-German boy I had as a lover my first year of college who would sing the French anthem to me in bed. I just wasn't in the mood to be seduced.

So I made up a story about having to meet my friends at the Leidseplein, and we went on our separate ways.

Later, after Niblet's introduction to the Bulldog, I was on my way back to Dam Square (with an unintended detour through Rembrandtplein) and started wondering how he'd so easily marked me as a foreign tourist. I hadn't made eye contact with him, so it wasn't that. Nothing else about me stands out: I'm blonde & fair like the Dutch. I know from some cursory shopping that my personal style corresponds with current fashion here, from cut, fabric, colors, even accessories like belts, bracelets and shoes, I am apparently Euro fabulous.

As I opened my umbrella because it had started to rain again, I realized. "It's the umbrella"

I checked the weather report before I left and knew there was a chance of showers, but I decided if I left my umbrella at home, the weather would have to cooperate and not rain on my vacation. I've seen Amsterdam in the rain, dammit! That's why I'm here in May.

But it's raining, so I bought an umbrella, the first one I saw. It's mostly bright red, but that isn't the problem. There are three white panels with huge black "X X X" lettering, as well as "AMSTERDAM" slightly smaller. X X X by the way, doesn't mean hardcore porn, though I can see how you might think that. It's the national symbol for windmills. You may know they have a lot of those here.

So, basically, big red umbrella with "X X X AMSTERDAM" translates to a big scarlet "T" branded on my forehead. I tossed that one and bought something in basic black. I don't mind being taken for an American, especially because I can say "San Francisco" which apparently makes me a slightly better class of American tourist than someone from just about any other U.S. city. But discretion isn't a bad thing, particularly when the international view of American women is frequently that we are easy targets for men with accents and a little bit of charm.

Dutch isn't a sexy language, and they don't sound sexy when they speak it. It's highly Germanic, very guttural sounding, and about as unsexy a language as you can imagine. Their accents are cute in English, though. Not as hard as German. And holy crap! are Dutch men hot. Some of them are very Aryan looking, which tends to get my attention. The tall, lean, broad shouldered, blonde hair, blue-eyed thing. They have these really dark lips, too, and many have that permanent rosy-cheeked thing going on. Much like my ex, who, though he grew up in England and Scotland, exhibits far more of his Dutch heritage. I find all sorts of men attractive, but throw a hot, blonde, Dutch-looking guy in my path and I guarantee I'm going to drool.

***

After dinner and a nap, I headed toward the Red Light District for the second time since arrival. My first stop after leaving my hotel much earlier in the afternoon having been Baba, first the souvenir shop for a pipe, since I suck at rolling joints and the pre-rolled ones here are full of tobacco, which makes me want to hurl if I smoke it. Then to their coffeeshop for my first "legal" bag of pot. An 8 euro gram of Jack Herrer.

Approaching midnight, I headed in to coffeeshop Route 66 for a mango nectar Looza, hoping to take advantage of their internet access.

Route 66 has 4 computers attached to the web. 2 were in use by 3 guys who were all together, the other 2 turned out to be broken. So I bought some more pot, packed a bowl, and sat and waited my turn. They were speaking Dutch to each other. The closest one to me looked like he was 18 or 19, the Aryan Dutch look I described earlier, very fresh faced and cute. He spoke to me in Dutch, but when I replied in English, the older guy in the middle spoke back to me in accented English, but I couldn't tell where he was from. The third guy didn't speak much, but was also rather Dutch looking.

They started showing me attractions they had built, explaining the length of time it took to build and break them down, and how many men each job required. They are carnies. The attractions they showed me were roller coasters, hydro-powered rides, haunted houses with mechanical puppets. The 18 year-old (I was right, he told me his age at one point) had left his family and started working at traveling carnivals when he was 13. The other guy turned out to be Turkish, and we established he'd be home in Bodrum just after my arrival in Istanbul, for his daughter's 2nd birthday. I'm not clear on his age, but I'm guessing mid to late 30s, and he'd been working at carnivals for 20 years.

They told me it's something that gets in your blood. Once you do it, you just have to. It's a life of travel, they spend 9 months a year on the road. Sometimes, they build, run, and break down an entire carnival in a single day. They're like the modern equivalent of gypsies.

View From the Terrace

of our hotel in Istanbul



yes, that is the Blue Mosque just off in the distance...

I know I said Memorial Day ...

But, 8 days from departure, the reality is starting to set in -- I'm really, really doing this! Time spent on public transportation consists of me drooling over travel guides. Today, I'm planning museums.

Amsterdam
I've been to the Rijksmuseum and Anne Frank's Haus, the latter of which was one of the most somber and humbling experiences of my life. I cried, several times throughout the tour, most notably over a picture of the statue of Anne that stands on the street outside defaced by a Swastika. This time, I'm visiting the Van Gogh for the Caravaggio and Rembrandt exhibits currently on display, Tropenmuseum (anthropological museum), and the Torture Museum, which I should have visited last time, but didn't. I'd really like to visit Amsterdam's modern art museum, the Stedelijk, but the permanent site is closed for renovation through 2008, and only a small portion of the collection is on display on two floors of a building near Central Station. The modern art will have to wait for Paris, and maybe Istanbul.

Paris
Paris isn't a question of which museums I want to see, but which museums will I have time to see. I'm thinking a museum a day. Possibly two, and luckily for me, many of them have at least one night per week when they stay open until 9:00 or 10:00 pm.

The Louvre - probably least excited about this one, but it's The Louvre. You just sort of have to.
The Centre Pompidou (Musee national d'Art Moderne) - SOOOO bummed I'm going to miss the Hans Bellmer exhibit by a week! Still, the permanent collection is amazing and I'll get to see a Godard exhibit and an interesting one called Tete a Tete.
Musee d'Orsay
Musee National Rodin (particularly the gardens)
Musee National Picasso
Musee Marmottan
The Maison Europeenne de la Photographie
Day trip to Versailles

Istanbul
Topkapi Palace
Basilica Cistern
Haghia Sophia
Museum of Turkish and Islamic Art
Calligraphy Museum
Modern Art Museum
Mosiac Musuem

Think I'll manage to see them all?