AMSTERDAM. 3rd-4th October

Friday morning. Have brekkie, and then start to pack, because I only booked for tonight after I got back from Texel, and have to move rooms. I'm not quick enough to miss Luiz, who wanders in with his customary greeting "Ah, Mister Charles, Prince Charles!" I sometimes suggest to people who have trouble remembering my name to use the mneumonic of thinking of the (possible) future King of England, which, in Luiz' case was a mistake, I now realise. In other hostels, such as Berlin, you can put a lock on your backpack and leave it in the luggage room in a case like this (not allowed in new room before 2 pm because of cleaning). But in Amsterdam they give you a 2 euro coin to feed a key pad where you have to select a locker and nominate a pin number etc. Trouble is that it takes a while for the keypad to realise that you want to do it in English, plus there is usually a long queue to get at the keypad. Finally achieve all this, and ring the laundry and find that the internet is okay.

I would have liked to have hired a bike again, Amsterdam is a city that cries out to be cycled around. But yesterday had been very wet, and given my recent Texel experience, I wasn't very keen on another dose of getting soaked through. Today is nice and sunny, but I can't hire one anyway, as it will be too early to return it in the morning before I get the train. Walk to the laundry, and upload a number of photos onto the blog. The Indonesian lady who sometimes does folding and ironing for my Sikh friend is there, and today, maybe because of a sudden 'Indian summer day,' there is much frivolity in the shop. She says deprecating things about him to me in Indonesian, and I tell him that she is praising him. After it is time for me to move into the new room. I like to do this early, so that I can ensure that I get the lower bunk that I've asked for. (Another task that cuts into your day). Get the key, and find that my lower bunk is free, although the other three bunks are already (somewhat untidily) inhabited. Every hook and flat surface in the room is festooned with girls' panties and g-strings etc. that have been left out to dry, and a cursory glance at suitcase labels and shampoo bottles etc. in the bathroom, makes it evident that my sleeping companions tonight will be three Spanish dolly-birds. It occurs to me that you could spend half your life dreaming about a situation like this, and then "Whoa, boy, don't even think about it!"

However, in lieu of a bike ride, it is a lovely afternoon for strolling around Amsterdam, and I reflect that much as I enjoyed Belgium and Germany, and would love to visit again, I wouldn't really want to live there, but that if I was given the option of being put up against the wall or having to live permanently in Amsterdam, I wouldn't think it too bad a fate. I walk to the University of Amsterdam Library. The two or three loyal readers who are still following this blog may remember Michele's recommendation to me of Lee Merriwether's 1886 book on travelling Europe on 50 cents a day, which caught up with me when I was in Dunkerque. Another 'book' on the list (which I think was a nomination of the 10 most unusual books ever published), was "The BIT - a communal 'happening' that originated in the late 1960's on London's Elgin Road, that listed hundreds of letters from hippie travellers on where to crash cheaply, catch freak buses, and boogie across continents on well, - about 50 cents a day. These were photocopied and stapled together and and sold in plastic bags by editor Geoff Crowther as 'Overland to India and Australia', and became a hippie travel bible. From its alumni and customers grew much of the colossus that today is Lonely Planet". It turns out that even Crowther himself doesn't have a copy today, and that the only known one in existence is in a library at the University of Amsterdam. So I thought I might have a look. The woman at the info. desk in the main library looked it up in the catalogue, and said 'no' they didn't hold it, the only book they had listed for Geoff Crowther was 'Overland through Africa', which had been missing for ages, anyway. As it wasn't in the catalogue I could see that she obviously thought I'd imagined it, and that was that. Just like a xxxxxx librarian!

From there I went to the Rijksmuseum, which is open till 8.30 on Friday nights. Big on Rembrandt and his contemporaries. I thought it was a bit cheeky that a well-attended seminar on some sort of modern children's books, complete with datashow, was being held right in front of 'The Night Watch', thereby lessening somewhat (for the paying customers), the experience of
viewing the painting which, above all others, they had come to see. I think that my drenching in Texel has had some subsequent effects, chill on the tum for one, and a quite alarming stiffening in my feet at night in bed, and now, while I'm still at the Rijksmuseum, I start to feel faint, and I'm rather glad when it's chuck-out time, and I head back to the Indian cafe of the previous night, for another of those great chicken curries!

When I get back to the dorm about 11 pm, all the panties etc. have disappeared, and the room looks quite tidy. When I get into bed I leave the light on in the toilet, which just gives enough light in the room without it disturbing anyone already abed. When I'm dozing off I notice a slight vibration of the bunk that suggests that someone has just climbed into the top part of it, and then I fall asleep. When I get up for my usual trip to the 'loo about 2 am, I note that all the beds are now occupied, and I douse the light in the bathroom. I've put my mobile 'phone alarm on for 6.50 am, so as to have plenty of time to get to the train early. I wake about 6 am to the feeling of movement, and note (through flickering eyelids) these three wraith-like silhouettes flitting about the room, almost like a modern ballet. Anyway, by the time I get up to my alarm, they are long gone (permanently, it seems), and in their haste have left behind a near-new pair of joggers, a large umbrella, a soap-dish and soap, and some sort of small transformer, with what looks like an Aussie 2-pin plug on one end and a usb socket on the other. I reflect that I'm rather glad to be going to India, where you can get a room with en-suite for 10 bucks a day - I don't think I could stand the strain of staying in a dorm much longer.

I'm the first one into breakfast at 7.30 (a first!), and am on the tram from Leidesplein by 8.30. It is a conductor-less tram, and I have some trouble putting my money in the machine to buy a ticket. It takes a euro okay, but won't take the other 60 cents in change. Not wanting to get nabbed by a ticket inspector and end up missing my train, I sit near the machine with the change still in my hand. Suddenly a guy in civilian clothes sits across from me, and starts talking about the machine and asks me for the 60 cents which I give him, as I get the impression that he's some sort of plain-clothes inspector. Then he later asks me if I've got enough to make it up to the price of a cup of coffee, and I realise that I've been had, but I'm so relieved that I'm not going to be delayed, that I burst out laughing, and give him a few coins anyway, but not enough to buy a cuppa with.