Day 4 - (Monday, 16th Jan 06')
Today was my last day in The Netherlands and I had to plan it well, to cover as much as I could, of all that was left to do in my agenda. I had decided to spend the earlier part of the day in Amsterdam, visiting the Van Gogh and the Rijks Museums and then cover some selected areas of Rotterdam, in the evening.
Started the day with another good breakfast cooked by Chints and then we left for his school, where dear Melissa was going to give me her 'MuseumCard', which would waive my entry fee for any museum in the two cities. Armed with another one of Chintan's hand-drawn maps, I left for the Rotterdam Centraal station, to head to Amsterdam Centraal. At the station, took an 'Intercity' to reach Amsterdam in 45 mins.
Walked out of the station to get a whiff of the weed in the air, find a canal in the distance and bikes-bikes everywhere. This has to be Amsterdam, I said to myself:)
Melissa had told me that the Tram No. 5 will take me from Amsterdam Centraal to both the museums, so I was off to bug the tram driver; a tourist in the true sense, to warn me before we reached my stop. The Rijks Museum is about a 1/2 mile before the Van Gogh Museum, (both are in Museumplein; i. e Museum Square) so this was going to be simple.
The Van Gogh museum, was a must visit for me. Having loved Van Gogh's work ever since I first learnt about him in undergraduate school, I rarely miss a chance to see it. Just the previous day Melissa and I were talking about the museum and she wondered if I could skip the museum to go see other places instead, to which I was adamant, that having come all the way to his home-country I couldnt possibly skip a trip to the only museum in the world which houses the world's largest collection of his works. Seeing my 2005 Van Gogh planner, she was convinced that maybe it's best if i did go after all:)
The Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam houses more than 200 of the artist's paintings, including many masterpieces. (Dutch Trivia: Van means 'of' or 'from' in Dutch, so Vincent Van Gogh meant Vincent who hails from Gogh. My instant analogy to this bit of information from Chints was, "Oh, like how in India, some Maharashtrian's have 'kar' in their last names". He almost mocked me, but agreed all the same)
As much as I was thrilled at seeing so many of Van Gogh's works, in one trip, a part of me was also a slightly dissappointed at not having seen some of his most famous works there. One of my favourite pieces of art, 'The Cafe Terrace on The Place du Forum at Night, Arles, 1888' was not there. But most of his self-portraits were, which made my day! Van Gogh's rough, wild, somewhat insane streaks on canvas kill me; his wheat fields, sunflowers and yellow balls of fire for a sun, are to me an artist's expression at his best. On the other hand, there were the pleasant irises with slightly subtle strokes and perspectively challenged drawings of his room in Paris; a must-visit for anyone even slightly artistically inclined.
A trip to the gift-shop downstairs, lasted almost an hour as I contemplated over a calendar or a reprint. I left with a calendar, a magnetic bookmark and a mini phone book, all with various works of Van Gogh on them. Found several street vendors selling Van Gogh memorablia and souveneirs outside the museum for half the price, so it was good that I had'nt bought my magnets in the shop.
The next stop was the Rijks Museum, which like the Van Gogh Museum was not very large. (I had allotted about 4-5 hours for both the museums together, going by the time it took me to cover the Tate Modern in London or the MOMA in NYC. But I was done with both the museums in about 3 hours, after having satisfactorily looked at most of the works, which was good, as it gave me some more time to explore the rest of Amsterdam before I left) The Rijks Museum houses works by various Dutch and other European artists and has a section called 'De Meesterwerken', i.e 'The Masterpieces', a category that has a changing set of works on display. Works of Rembraandt were on display as were paintings and pieces of art from the rich historic past of the Netherlands. Renaissance paintings shared gallery space with almost photographic still-life works and portraits that varied from Dutch milkmaids to royalty. Royal doll houses stood next to showcases decorated with blue and white Delft ceramics. My favourite section was naturally, the one displaying Rembrandt's work as it brought back memories from Visual Studies' classes in my undergraduate years.
After the Rijks Museum, it was time to head back to Amsterdam Centraal, on the tram no. 5. I got off a few stops before the station, to walk around, in and out of shops, say my last good-bye's to places I had barely said "Hello" to, yet. I also wanted to buy my Amsterdam magnet and take pictures of stores abounding in 'clogs', perhaps pick a pair or two while I was at it. Struck a good deal (half-off everything) with an Egyptian shop-owner who wanted to get his last sales-of-the-day over with and walked out with plenty of souveneirs for myself and the folks back in India. (He kept asking me why I stayed in NYC and did not move back to India; "Was'nt NYC too big a city? Look at Amsterdam, it's such a busy city and everyday I keep wanting to move back to Egypt")Another 5 minutes with him and he was almost asking me out, so after a quick selection of souveneirs, I was hurrying out of the shop. It was almost 5 by now and I had almost all of Rotterdam to cover in the remaining part of the day. One last purchase to make - pre-packed Dutch tulips for Mom, nowhere to be found near the Centraal station or even in it, so I left hoping to buy them at Schipol tomorrow.
The train ride was spent jotting down notes and pointers that would later go into the making of this travelogue.
Back in Rotterdam and it was drizzling outside, as I called Chints' to co-ordinate our dinner plans. Turns out that he was still busy with his paper and I set off to do my Rotterdam touring, all by myself, armed with a very helpful map that Sahil and Melissa had handed over to me the day before.
Rotterdam is a rather small city, almost completely traversible by foot, if you dont mind walking that is. I did'nt; coming as I was from another walkable city. My 4 hour long walk through this city, would begin through the Centrum area, which is the City centre; downtown Rotterdam as they would say in the US. "MiddellandStraat is the cosmopolitan street that you must walk through Shweyts; it's a mini Chinatown and has some Indian stores on it as well"; that was Chint's voice in my head. So Middellandstraat was next, where most shops were closing ("Rotterdam, unlike Amsterdam closes really early every day. How I wish Berlage had still stayed in Amsterdam, instead of moving to Rotterdam" another one of Chint's comments in the past couple of days) I had been instructed by him that it was safe to walk around in this city at any time of the day and so my solitary night-walk did'nt seem scary, except of course in parts where I was the only one on the entire street. As I had been told, MiddellandStraat was a multi-cultural street, which started off on an Asian note with Chinese and Japanese restaurants and shops, interspersed with Indian saree stores that had particularly excited my host.
My next stop was to be MuseumPark, to see the NAI (Netherlands' Architecture Institute) and the Kunsthal Rotterdam, both from the outside, as it was beyond their working hours. (Yah, unfortunately the trip to Brussels had cramped me for time in Holland, making me spend the least of my time in seeing Rotterdam, something I will have to leave for my next trip).
At night, the lighting at MuseumPark was worth a dekko; the NAI was lit up in a repetitive pattern of colours, one per bay and their reflection in the large pool of water inside, rendered a simultaneous sense of calm and modernity to the building.
Going upstairs from the sunken level of MuseumPark, I reached a main road, almost towards the end of Rotterdam. I walked towards the river 'Nieuwe Maas' to see the new symbol of Modern architecture, used for the promotion of the city, the ErasmusBrug (Erasmus Bridge). Not to mention, the view would have been even more spectacular by day, but it was'nt so bad by night as well. It was strane in a way, that distances in this city were really small, a walk across the river on the bridge barely took me a while.
There were water-taxi's, that operated on various routes through the river, a boat ride that I could'nt take because of time constraints. My walk back was on an alternate route, as I was to meet up with Chints at Witte de Withstraat, a street lined with clubs and bars all along; kind of like a mini Greenwich village in the heart of Rotterdam. En route I passed three residential towers, each lit up in a different colour and later was informed by Chints, that Rem Koolhauss lived in one of them. ("Now you can say that you not only saw his office, but also his house, when you were in Rotterdam" he later told me. Sure, that would be something to brag about to my architectural friends back home!)
Andy Warhol's famous line, written in neon on a wall "In the future everyone will be famous for 15 minutes" stared back at me, on Witte de Withstraat. I found an interesting looking restaurant, that was buzzing with activity even on a Monday night and was done up with multiple, exotic lanterns suspended at various heights over a central core within. 'Bazar' was a Turkish restaurant, where I waited for Chints, while sipping at my hot Turkish tea with honey in it.
A sumptuous dinner followed, after Chints arrived and then we waited for Melissa and Sahil, both of whom were to join us later into the night. The night lasted for almost 6 hours, 4 of which were spent at 'Bazar', where to my amazement we saw 'DUDOK Apple Pie' listed on the Desert menu. It was interesting to see how one restaurant's claim-to-fame was served in other restaurants' too, with rightful credits to the original source of the delicacy. Unfortunately however, the 'DUDOK Apple Pie' here was frozen, hence not fresh. Perhaps an appropriate end to my trip would have been at the DUDOK restaurant near Berlage, where I had my first taste of apple-pie heaven. No regrets however, considering there would be no DUDOK pie, fresh or frozen, once I left the Netherlands.
We left 'Bazar' when they almost shut down upon us; dinner conversation had carried us through the evening especially as this was my last dinner with my Dutch hosts. Post dinner we walked through the modernist looking shopping complex, once again where Melissa and Sahil pointed out design flaws in the curvaceous roof to me. We were four architects walking through the post-war European capital of Modern Architecture and still, true to our profession's nature, we had issues with the design. Such is the breed called Architects, blame it on the profession I say:)
The night, or more appropriately next morning (It was 2 am by the time we reached Chints place and I had a 3:59 train to Amsterdam to catch) was spent in Chints house. I packed while Chints and Sahil forced poor Melissa to sit through a classic Bollywood flick, 'Dilwaale Dulhaniya Le Jaayenge' in the middle of the night.
Finally at 3:30 Sahil and I left after I said my good bye's to Chints and Melissa, to go for the last time to Rotterdam Centraal. Thankfully Sahil had accompanied me, as I later discovered, that credit cards did'nt work at the ticket-vending machines and I had to borrow 5 Euros from him (a debt, I still owe him) to buy my ticket to Schipol. It's a debt I plan to pay off, when he visits me in NYC.
At Schipol, I managed to buy my pre-packed tulip bulbs, which as I was to see a month down the line, blossomed beautifully into blood red tulips in my mom's potted soil in her mini-kitchen garden. 10 Euros, very well spent!!!
Acknowledgements:
1. Chints', my official host for the trip and source of endless Dutch trivia, instruction and very good care-taking during my stay in Dutch-land. For buying me my first DUDOK Apple pie and insisting I go to Brussels. For the hilarious Bappi Lahiri imitiations of 'Gulaai gulaai go' and insane 'Bappa-Bappi poetry' we made up. Also last but not the least, for the enthusiastic yet typical KRVIA conversations and discussions we had over the course of my stay.
Truly Dutchints, I owe you big time and Thanks for making my trip memorable!
2. Sahil, my junior from KRVIA undergrad, whom I got to know better in this trip and now look forward to staying in touch. Also, for going out of his way to accompany me to Amsterdam and coming for dinner every night of my stay there.
3. Melissa, a complete stranger who over the 4 days of my stay, became a good friend. For accompanying me to Amsterdam and joining us for dinner each night. For lending me her MuseumCard, cooking the delicious chicken for dinner and giving me all the valuable tips from her experiences in the Netherlands.
4. Chintan's friends, who were interesting company to Brussels.
5. And last but not the least, my sensibility that drove me towards making an almost last minute decision to route my vacation through Holland.
Danku Wel, you all and I hope to return soon!
Monday, January 16, 2006
Sunday, January 15, 2006
Day 3 - Brussels/Rotterdam
Day 3 - (Sunday, 15th Jan 06')
Chintan and I woke up early to meet his other team-mates at Rotterdam Centraal, from where we were to take our train to Brussels. Another stop en route for the flaky croissant and cup of coffee, and we were boarding our train. Trains in the Netherlands (or was that in all of Europe?) were well-equipped with adjustable tables and contractable trash bins, by each seat. Post breakfast, Chints moved over to work on his paper with his team-mate and I sat back with my Nano for company, taking in the Dutch countryside. We passed Den Haag, the seat of the government in Holland, a place I visited only while on the train, to and fro my journeys to Amsterdam and now to Brussels.
The ride into Brussels was barely an hour and a half long, and the cultural and linguistic differences were already obvious. The large Dutch windows were giving way to traditional European fenestrations as signages started reading in French.
The Brussels Central station was another one of those magnanimous iron and steel trussed-structural enclosures they have, for stations in Europe. Within the station, we passed closed chocolaterie's and boulangerie's, going up and down stairs to find our way out. Once outside the station, Ron (one of Chints' Swiss friends) led us into the city, which was just waking up on a lazy Sunday morning. We were finding our way through narrow sloping streets, lined with closed shutters for shops, as shopkeepers threw buckets of water on the pavement, to start a fresh day. Our troupe was actively looking to find a Brunch place, that would be open. Two unsuccessful stops later, Ron led us to this cosy yet large brunch place, called 'Le grand cafe'. The maitre'd seated us on a rather large table and our hungry selves placed our orders and went to the loo's. An interesting loo experience, as there was no visual demaracation of the men's and women's restroom areas. So obviously, I dont know what I was thinking when I walked right past the urinals and into a toilet, only to realise at the end of it, that I had relieved myself in the men's loo. Not that the old lady collecting tips, at the entrance of the loo's found it strange; all she wanted was her 25 pence tip. Back to my breakfast table, where one of Chint's friends lit up a smoke at the table, (not knowing we were at a non-smoking area), at the horrified astonishment of the waiter and later had to put it out. (European bars bother me; having to sit in a smoke-environment, passively inhaling all that evil air and ending up with it, in your hair and clothes, let alone in your lungs is something I've lost practice of; thanks to Mayor Bloomberg)
After breakfast, it was time to get to work, for my group-mates. We walked through the cobbled streets, as I noticed the omni-presence of Tintin on the sides of a lot of buildings (Tintin's creator Georges Remi, better known as Herge, was born in Brussels and he made Tintin, Belgium's most famous reporter).
We passed through The Grand'Place (Grote Markt - Market Square), taking in fleeting glimpses of the golden facades, gleaming in the early morning sun; again up and down narrow streets, into the station and outside it, onto the other side of the city. Here we were, face-to-face with the Museum of Modern Art, where Chints and gang had to go see an exhibit on Moscow, for their studio project. I decided to bow out of it and explore the city by myself instead, deciding with Chint's to meet back here after two hours.
As it was around 10 am now, the city seemed to be getting livelier than before. I walked through the Central station, (dodging my way through the many tour-guides trying to sell me a 'City-tour by bus' tickets) and out into the city on the other side of it. My first stop was the The Grand'Place (Grote Markt - Market Square), to have a good look at the historic market square with its splendid guild houses and the impressive Gothic beauty of the Town Hall. This square is widely considered to be one of the most beautiful town squares in Europe, flanked by sets of 14th century guild houses with elaborate baroque facades, complementing the King's house, that already had a queue of tourists waiting outside it for the tour. I spent some time watching a group of little girl guides being instructed by their beautiful and very attractive young teachers, rambling away instructions in French. I moved on from the square towards the "Rue des Bouchers" (butchers' streets), where fresh varieties of sea food were beautifully arranged, along the edges of the narrow pathways. Each restaurant was painted in a different hue and had a coloured board at its entrance, that spelt the 'menu' of the day. Most restaurants had three course lunches priced from 18-20 Euros each; a steal for the spread they were offering. Walking through the butcher's streets, I reached a street market that sold everything from hats to shoes, next to a bronze statue - a seated man reading a book, with his pestering dog at his knees. There were many such public sculptures that I was to see, in my day there, the most important one (from the tourist point of view) being the 'Mannekin Pis' (the little bronze boy peeing), which of course I missed out on. No complaints, on that one!
I walked ahead amidst the market streets, trying to find myself a good chocolaterie, where I could try my first authentic Belgian chocolate. ( I was hoping to try Belgian chocolate, beer and waffles, all in a day) So the next half an hour was spent well, learning about the various kinds of chocolates in a quaint, nicely done up store with a very patient French lady for an owner. I walked out of the store, with a bag of assorted Belgian chocolates, (from trufles to Chocolate Euro's). 20 Euros well spent!
Street musicians played along as I noticed the elaborate details and aesthetics that went into the design of an attractive Chocolate store. Godiva must learn a lesson or two; as it looked meagre next to the 'La Belgique Gourmande', an almost royal temple of sorts for chocolate. No wonder Belgian chocolate is so rich. Next to the rich confiserie's was an interesting looking collage-sort-of Turkish window ensemble, appropriately titled 'Kazana'. Ducked into a curio shop, and I was face-to-face with the 'Mannekin Pis'; the poor guy seemed to be peeing all over the place, on magnets, postcards, even on t-shirts. Bought a magnet, (I've become a magnet collector lately; successfully managing to take back home a magnet from every city I visit. Only wish I had started it much earlier, then I would have had an even greater collection. But I guess its getting there albeit gradually:) and realised I had just about enough time to walk through the square and revert back to the museum, to meet the rest of the troupe, in time.
At the museum, Chints and gang were downstairs and we decided to move onto the other part of the city, the parts that look and feel like the capital of the European Union. Stopped to get directions and then almost half-ran, half-walked as I desperately tried to balance my photographing and filming and to keep pace with the super-fast Ron and his troupe. Passed some atrocious buildings existing in the name of Modern architecture and some really outstanding ones. The city structure was very reminiscent of Lutyen's Delhi or Washington D.C; a sharp axis running along, to create various vistas of important government buildings, all through the urban fabric. Spent some time admiring Gordon Bunshaft's sprawling modernist structure, which was closed for the day, before we moved onto 'Le Botanique', a Botanical garden cum Museum/ Gallery for 'Les 7 Tours de Moscou'- an exhibition showcasing the 7 towers of Moscow, as the name suggests. To get to the gallery, we passed through a gay-lesbian convention, my first such experience ever, which also made me notice how active the gay-lesbian community in Europe is. In Amsteram and even here in Brussels, society seemed to be much more tolerant and open somehow. We stopped for a beer and a quick bite at the cafe, which seemed to overflow with people from the convention. I was happy to be voyeuring again! Also got to know Chintan's friends better over our conversation that ranged from India to New York.
After the exhibition, it was time to rush back to the station to catch our train back to Rotterdam. So after a brisk walk and a free bus ride, we reached the station with just enough time left for me to get my Belgian Waffle and hop into the train. It goes without saying that just watching the waffle being made, produced stars in my eyes, and after a "Merci beaucoup" to the pretty and amused waffle lady, it was time to indulge. An amused Chintan took a picture of me eating the waffle, another food-memory that will stay with me forever.
On the train ride back, Chints and I caught up on old memories of undergraduate school and common acquaintances. We were to get back and meet up with Sahil and Melissa for dinner at this Italian restaurant, close to Berlage. Chints and I walked around Rotterdam; he giving me a night tour and I clicking away to glory. We passed 'Pathe' which was Rotterdam's largest movie theatre complex; a slick building with a light dynamic trellis facade, that changed light. It was here, Chints informed me that the Rotterdam Film Festival will be held on Jan 25th and this is where he watches his occassional Bollywood film. The dynamism of the 'Pathe' facade, reminded me of the evolving skin facade that I had proposed as part of my Final Project for Masters' at SCI_Arc. 'Pathe' had a massive open plaza upfront, that doubled as a basketball court, which had wooden boards for flooring, and Chint's mentioned how extravagant Rotterdam City was, because every year they changed the wooden boarding, after the rains left them soggy. (Additional European govt. trivia: The Swiss government, until recently, would use iodized cooking salt to spray on the roads over snow, instead of cheap rock salt. Finally, the Swiss people got together to stop this waste. A story told to Chint's by his swiss classmate Ron).
We talked about how being a Dutch architect really helps as the Dutch government's agenda includes huge subisdies and financial allowances towards Art and Architecture. Chintan suggested I get married to a Dutch guy and then set up office in Rotterdam, if I wanted the easier route to becoming a successful international architect. Our conversation flowed towards how Rotterdam represented an Urban design project, right out of an Architecture student's portfolio. The reason why there is not much consistency in the fabric of this city, is because good and different designs are given a chance to be built here, resulting in a varied architectural pattern. Walking through the city at times, felt like walking through my classmates projects, all placed side-by-side; that's how disparate the city feels at times. I was to see more of this modern and post-modern urbanity tomorrow. Right now was time for a good Italian meal, where conversation flowed along with the wine and marked the end of another perfectly spent day in Europa!! Tomorrow was to be my last day here; visiting Amsterdam and it's museums tomorrow and then Rotterdam by night, just before I fly out to Mumbai!
Bon Nuit est Ashu Bleeft!
Chintan and I woke up early to meet his other team-mates at Rotterdam Centraal, from where we were to take our train to Brussels. Another stop en route for the flaky croissant and cup of coffee, and we were boarding our train. Trains in the Netherlands (or was that in all of Europe?) were well-equipped with adjustable tables and contractable trash bins, by each seat. Post breakfast, Chints moved over to work on his paper with his team-mate and I sat back with my Nano for company, taking in the Dutch countryside. We passed Den Haag, the seat of the government in Holland, a place I visited only while on the train, to and fro my journeys to Amsterdam and now to Brussels.
The ride into Brussels was barely an hour and a half long, and the cultural and linguistic differences were already obvious. The large Dutch windows were giving way to traditional European fenestrations as signages started reading in French.
The Brussels Central station was another one of those magnanimous iron and steel trussed-structural enclosures they have, for stations in Europe. Within the station, we passed closed chocolaterie's and boulangerie's, going up and down stairs to find our way out. Once outside the station, Ron (one of Chints' Swiss friends) led us into the city, which was just waking up on a lazy Sunday morning. We were finding our way through narrow sloping streets, lined with closed shutters for shops, as shopkeepers threw buckets of water on the pavement, to start a fresh day. Our troupe was actively looking to find a Brunch place, that would be open. Two unsuccessful stops later, Ron led us to this cosy yet large brunch place, called 'Le grand cafe'. The maitre'd seated us on a rather large table and our hungry selves placed our orders and went to the loo's. An interesting loo experience, as there was no visual demaracation of the men's and women's restroom areas. So obviously, I dont know what I was thinking when I walked right past the urinals and into a toilet, only to realise at the end of it, that I had relieved myself in the men's loo. Not that the old lady collecting tips, at the entrance of the loo's found it strange; all she wanted was her 25 pence tip. Back to my breakfast table, where one of Chint's friends lit up a smoke at the table, (not knowing we were at a non-smoking area), at the horrified astonishment of the waiter and later had to put it out. (European bars bother me; having to sit in a smoke-environment, passively inhaling all that evil air and ending up with it, in your hair and clothes, let alone in your lungs is something I've lost practice of; thanks to Mayor Bloomberg)
After breakfast, it was time to get to work, for my group-mates. We walked through the cobbled streets, as I noticed the omni-presence of Tintin on the sides of a lot of buildings (Tintin's creator Georges Remi, better known as Herge, was born in Brussels and he made Tintin, Belgium's most famous reporter).
We passed through The Grand'Place (Grote Markt - Market Square), taking in fleeting glimpses of the golden facades, gleaming in the early morning sun; again up and down narrow streets, into the station and outside it, onto the other side of the city. Here we were, face-to-face with the Museum of Modern Art, where Chints and gang had to go see an exhibit on Moscow, for their studio project. I decided to bow out of it and explore the city by myself instead, deciding with Chint's to meet back here after two hours.
As it was around 10 am now, the city seemed to be getting livelier than before. I walked through the Central station, (dodging my way through the many tour-guides trying to sell me a 'City-tour by bus' tickets) and out into the city on the other side of it. My first stop was the The Grand'Place (Grote Markt - Market Square), to have a good look at the historic market square with its splendid guild houses and the impressive Gothic beauty of the Town Hall. This square is widely considered to be one of the most beautiful town squares in Europe, flanked by sets of 14th century guild houses with elaborate baroque facades, complementing the King's house, that already had a queue of tourists waiting outside it for the tour. I spent some time watching a group of little girl guides being instructed by their beautiful and very attractive young teachers, rambling away instructions in French. I moved on from the square towards the "Rue des Bouchers" (butchers' streets), where fresh varieties of sea food were beautifully arranged, along the edges of the narrow pathways. Each restaurant was painted in a different hue and had a coloured board at its entrance, that spelt the 'menu' of the day. Most restaurants had three course lunches priced from 18-20 Euros each; a steal for the spread they were offering. Walking through the butcher's streets, I reached a street market that sold everything from hats to shoes, next to a bronze statue - a seated man reading a book, with his pestering dog at his knees. There were many such public sculptures that I was to see, in my day there, the most important one (from the tourist point of view) being the 'Mannekin Pis' (the little bronze boy peeing), which of course I missed out on. No complaints, on that one!
I walked ahead amidst the market streets, trying to find myself a good chocolaterie, where I could try my first authentic Belgian chocolate. ( I was hoping to try Belgian chocolate, beer and waffles, all in a day) So the next half an hour was spent well, learning about the various kinds of chocolates in a quaint, nicely done up store with a very patient French lady for an owner. I walked out of the store, with a bag of assorted Belgian chocolates, (from trufles to Chocolate Euro's). 20 Euros well spent!
Street musicians played along as I noticed the elaborate details and aesthetics that went into the design of an attractive Chocolate store. Godiva must learn a lesson or two; as it looked meagre next to the 'La Belgique Gourmande', an almost royal temple of sorts for chocolate. No wonder Belgian chocolate is so rich. Next to the rich confiserie's was an interesting looking collage-sort-of Turkish window ensemble, appropriately titled 'Kazana'. Ducked into a curio shop, and I was face-to-face with the 'Mannekin Pis'; the poor guy seemed to be peeing all over the place, on magnets, postcards, even on t-shirts. Bought a magnet, (I've become a magnet collector lately; successfully managing to take back home a magnet from every city I visit. Only wish I had started it much earlier, then I would have had an even greater collection. But I guess its getting there albeit gradually:) and realised I had just about enough time to walk through the square and revert back to the museum, to meet the rest of the troupe, in time.
At the museum, Chints and gang were downstairs and we decided to move onto the other part of the city, the parts that look and feel like the capital of the European Union. Stopped to get directions and then almost half-ran, half-walked as I desperately tried to balance my photographing and filming and to keep pace with the super-fast Ron and his troupe. Passed some atrocious buildings existing in the name of Modern architecture and some really outstanding ones. The city structure was very reminiscent of Lutyen's Delhi or Washington D.C; a sharp axis running along, to create various vistas of important government buildings, all through the urban fabric. Spent some time admiring Gordon Bunshaft's sprawling modernist structure, which was closed for the day, before we moved onto 'Le Botanique', a Botanical garden cum Museum/ Gallery for 'Les 7 Tours de Moscou'- an exhibition showcasing the 7 towers of Moscow, as the name suggests. To get to the gallery, we passed through a gay-lesbian convention, my first such experience ever, which also made me notice how active the gay-lesbian community in Europe is. In Amsteram and even here in Brussels, society seemed to be much more tolerant and open somehow. We stopped for a beer and a quick bite at the cafe, which seemed to overflow with people from the convention. I was happy to be voyeuring again! Also got to know Chintan's friends better over our conversation that ranged from India to New York.
After the exhibition, it was time to rush back to the station to catch our train back to Rotterdam. So after a brisk walk and a free bus ride, we reached the station with just enough time left for me to get my Belgian Waffle and hop into the train. It goes without saying that just watching the waffle being made, produced stars in my eyes, and after a "Merci beaucoup" to the pretty and amused waffle lady, it was time to indulge. An amused Chintan took a picture of me eating the waffle, another food-memory that will stay with me forever.
On the train ride back, Chints and I caught up on old memories of undergraduate school and common acquaintances. We were to get back and meet up with Sahil and Melissa for dinner at this Italian restaurant, close to Berlage. Chints and I walked around Rotterdam; he giving me a night tour and I clicking away to glory. We passed 'Pathe' which was Rotterdam's largest movie theatre complex; a slick building with a light dynamic trellis facade, that changed light. It was here, Chints informed me that the Rotterdam Film Festival will be held on Jan 25th and this is where he watches his occassional Bollywood film. The dynamism of the 'Pathe' facade, reminded me of the evolving skin facade that I had proposed as part of my Final Project for Masters' at SCI_Arc. 'Pathe' had a massive open plaza upfront, that doubled as a basketball court, which had wooden boards for flooring, and Chint's mentioned how extravagant Rotterdam City was, because every year they changed the wooden boarding, after the rains left them soggy. (Additional European govt. trivia: The Swiss government, until recently, would use iodized cooking salt to spray on the roads over snow, instead of cheap rock salt. Finally, the Swiss people got together to stop this waste. A story told to Chint's by his swiss classmate Ron).
We talked about how being a Dutch architect really helps as the Dutch government's agenda includes huge subisdies and financial allowances towards Art and Architecture. Chintan suggested I get married to a Dutch guy and then set up office in Rotterdam, if I wanted the easier route to becoming a successful international architect. Our conversation flowed towards how Rotterdam represented an Urban design project, right out of an Architecture student's portfolio. The reason why there is not much consistency in the fabric of this city, is because good and different designs are given a chance to be built here, resulting in a varied architectural pattern. Walking through the city at times, felt like walking through my classmates projects, all placed side-by-side; that's how disparate the city feels at times. I was to see more of this modern and post-modern urbanity tomorrow. Right now was time for a good Italian meal, where conversation flowed along with the wine and marked the end of another perfectly spent day in Europa!! Tomorrow was to be my last day here; visiting Amsterdam and it's museums tomorrow and then Rotterdam by night, just before I fly out to Mumbai!
Bon Nuit est Ashu Bleeft!
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Day 2 - Amsterdam
Day 2 - (Saturday, 14th Jan 06')
As planned last night, Sahil dutifully called me on my phone (my mobile phone in Holland, courtesy Chints) to wake me up, in the morning. My jet-lagged self woke up late and after a sumptous breakfast, cooked by Chints, and a hand-drawn map given by him, I was finding my way to Rotterdam Centraal to meet Sahil and Melissa.
Got myself a croissant and cappucino at the station (A crispy, flaky croissant and a cappucino, par excellence. How much I hate returning to the US when I am in Europe) and Sahil, Melissa and I walked towards the ticket machine. Both Sahil and Melissa have'nt been in NL for long themselves, so this was going to be a lot of fun, as we were to see.
After some ticketing-machine misadventures we got into what seemed like the train for Amsterdam Centraal. A casual observation made by me that none of the people at the station have got into the train, didnt really appear that strange then. It was only when the train started to move, went mid-way till the next station and then suddenly started re-tracking that we figured, something was wrong. Sahil sprinted all along the length of the train, to find no drivers or passengers at either ends. It was just the three of us, happily chatting away in our seats, clueless of our plight to come. Much discussion followed; whether we should break open the doors and walk on the tracks (This is not Bombay, someone said) or just wait till someone finds us here, which seemed highly impossible. So Melissa, the smartest one of our lot (Thank God for her, she knew the emergency number to call, unlike Sahil or even Chintan, as we got to know later, had no clue about it) called emergency. The conversation on the phone, as she reiterated later started off as such:
M: Hello, Is this Emergency?
E: Yes, What do you need, an ambulance, a fire-engine or the police?
M: Why don't you first hear my emergency and then decide for yourself?
:)
The Emergency helper really seemed to have a decent sense of humour; he told her something like "Someone will come to save you soon, Don't worry!" And to think, just before this we were exchanging notes on how we thought the Dutch were really rude!
In a few minutes, two train-drivers were trudging towards us, on the tracks and literally "saved" us. Sahil and I had already started off explaining ourselves, to which they were amused and gave us a "Ya, This happens all the time!" look. The walk back on the tracks, with our bemused "saviours" has been captured on film, by your's truly. The "saviours" were only too thrilled to be on film; they had had their 15 minutes of fame and we, our freedom.
The correct train, albeit late, took us into Amsterdam, where our first stop was for batteries and a map of the city for Sahil. We then, walked through some of the narrow shopping streets, window shopping and getting a feel of the place. Melissa and I exchanged notes on one of our favourite stores H&M, found one and walked into it to get my unequipped self, a winter cap. While Melissa and Sahil indulged in Frites (Fries; thick and oily ones, served with a small fork and mayo on the side), I stared at the Food Wall - a sort of vending-machine-of-a-wall selling Dutch burgers. We then moved on towards 'Daam Square' winding our way through more narrow streetscapes.
At Daam Square, a 'Grolsch' beer vendor, stared at us, all complete with a horse-drawn carriage and beer in barrels. A quick bite at a Middle Eastern Falafel place (There seemed to be many of these around) and we moved on, eagerly trying to make our way to the 'destination of the day', the 'Red-light district'. Melissa had been there before, so Sahil and I geared up for our virgin visit, to the world's most fascinating prostitution market-place.
The Red-light District (RLD, for future reference) of Amsterdam, is one of the best examples of contextually-adapted architecture, I have ever seen. I have already described, the Dutch fascination with exhibiting interior spaces, through massive window openings, to the public outside (The saying 'Washing dirty linen in public' was probably coined by them, too). The RLD beautifully adapts the age-old Dutch exhibitionist ideas, overlays them with their overtly-transparent facades and creates one of the most fascinating retail displays, that too; in realtime. The 'window-wares' (seems like an appropriate term to use here) move around, talk on the phone, comb their hair, wear make-up, do most things women can, albeit in a constricted space. They also gesture, call out, try to lure you into buying them; each 'window-ware' has her own skill-set she tries to use, to draw customers. Potential customers walk-by the display windows, peering into them, trying to see what suits their tastes and what doesnt; pretty much what you would do outside Macy's or Harrod's. The big difference that goes without saying of course, is that in this case, the customer can interact with the window-ware and haggle if need be, on the spot. A typical interested customer, would knock on the door, adjacent to the display-window, negotiate or atleast try to, and then walk-in. The curtains are then drawn across the door and the window, as it's time for business. Once done, you would more often than not, see a customer leave happily, after saying his polite good-bye's (We knew the look of happiness, when Melissa observed a guy light up a smoke with a look of content, as he left)
The RLD comprises of a series of architectural protoypes spread across both sides of the canal, within the urban pockets, juxtaposed with regular residential land-use. Each architectural prototype, appears on the facade as a door and a window, lined with red tube-lights, usually overlooking a narrow alley, that may at times be just wide enough to fit one average sized person. (There were times, when I was squeezing my way through and was jump-started at the sight of a woman peeping at me from within a sudden window, that appeared out of nowhere) In most cases, the prostitute, lives where she works (a home-office of sorts; that is usually 5 ft x 5 ft, fits in a bed, a wash-basin with a mirror and if large enough, a couch). In the RLD, ordinary life overlaps with business just as common people do with the prostitutes.
The red tube lights were an interesting element of the street-scape, as there were areas where, (and this may sound exaggerated, but it's true) one window of a house was red-light lined and the adjacent one was'nt. Of course, the architect's with the wild imagination that we were, we started off on various theories justifying the same. I began expounding on a make-believe scenario, where a bored housewife might just hang a red light outside her room window, to have some legal fun and make some extra bucks along with it; a light that can be easily retractable when her husband comes home. Alternatively, the husband, might just want to indulge at his neighbour's place and take a pit-stop next-door, before coming back home.
(As I was later informed, there is a festival, when every house hangs a red-lantern outside. I was beginning to like the spirit of this city.)
Humour aside, there was seriousness in this market-place. Prostitutes are considered victims of society and are legal tax-paying citizens. The Dutch are culturally, a highly tolerant society, towards what may seem conservative in most nations.
We walked into 'De Wallenwinkel' which was a 'Prostitutie Informatie Centrum'; a Prostitution Information Centre; that sold anything from books, pictures and information about the RLD, the prostitutes, their hygeine to guided tours of the RLD with a former sexworker, touristy souveneirs, erotic toys and edible underwear. And 'De Wallenwinkel' was situated next to a church, whose bells were audible far and wide. Nice!
A group of young girls, clad in shocking pink tights were receiving their first lesson, in conducting the tours. We walked through more streets and plazas of the RLD, trying to find newer windows with newer kinds of prostitutes, (Melissa and I wondered if there were any men on display someplace, other than the transvestites we had seen earlier). En route, we passed some SexShows and Live-Sex Theatres, that gave us a small promo of the rather elaborated show going on inside. For a reasonable rate of 5 Euros we could have watched Adult shows, live-sex shows and the likes, but we politely refused and moved on. The next stop was to be at the Canal by the Centraal Station for the much-talked about way to see Amsterdam, the Canal Tour.
The boat we were to take our tour in, finally left in what seemed like eternity and we were cruising across the inner canals and finally on River Amstel for the next one hour. While parts of the canal ride put us to sleep, other parts of it were really interesting, as we could see within the boat houses, that seemed to flank the peripheries of each canal. Cruising by in the 'Holland International', I could be spotted juggling my cameras at the sight of a humungous Foster project or an alternatively retro home-interior. I had read that the two best ways of seeing Amsterdam, are by a bike and by boat, and at the end of this canal ride, I was thrilled on having done atleast one of the two. As Felix Marti-Ibanez best describes it: 'In Amsterdam the water is the mistress and the land the vassal. Throughout the city there are as many canals and drawbridges as bracelets on a Gypsy's bronzed arms.'
The multiple canals that intertwined with each other and seemed to give birth to various bridges all along their expanse, was a phenomenon very different from my previous similar experience in Venice. While Amsterdam canals revealed modern architecture all along, including the bridges that spanned across them, Venice was all about traditionalism set in water or even across it. Amsterdam provides a mix of the old and the new; old Dutch houses flanked on either sides with modern buildings; antique-ish bicycles ringing by luxury, tiny European cars on the streets and traditionally crooked Dutch houses, with the slickest modern interiors. (Interesting Dutch house trivia: They are traditionally built leaning towards the street, giving them an overall crooked look. Each house has a hook on the facade, somewhere at the second floor height, which was used in olden days to draw furniture up, into the houses. Another reason for those huge windows.)
Amsterdam's openness bowled me over; I started off thinking this was the Las Vegas of Europe, but later chided myself for undermining the former's character by thinking so. There was thick culture here, just as is in all parts of Europe; which reflects a touch of modernism. Amsterdam's long history of liberal tolerance is displayed in it's open, unrestricting societal norms where the sacred and profane co-exist as good neighbours should.
A quick phone call from Chints had earlier established our dinner plans; Melissa and I were to cook at his place. So the canal ride was followed up by a brisk night walk by various Coffee-shops (I had been earlier instructed by Chints "If you want to have coffee Shweyta, go to a Cafe; if you want to have drugged coffee, walk into a Coffeeshop") to take a look at the RLD by night. An alternate Amsterdam was emerging in the dark; this city has dual character and it's sins come forth at night, in all their glory.
A few sin-shots later (Sahil was stealthily successful in getting a shot of a prostitute in her display-window) we were walking towards the Centraal station to catch our Intercity to Rotterdam.
Back in Rotterdam, a splendid dinner evening followed, with my spicy 'Chhole' (as per Chint's request), Melissa's tasty Chicken and Chintan's 'Jeera rice' and 'papad'.
My plan for tomorrow, initially, was to go back to explore Amsterdam on a bike. Chints put forward an alternative plan; for me to accompany him and his classmates to Brussels, where they were to see some exhibitions on Moscow and I could move about the city by myself. The temptation to travel and see another country in such a short trip, took over my initial reluctance to travel on a Schengen that was'nt multiple entry. But Chintan coaxed me into it and I was sold on the idea.
Now I was left with just one day, for 'doing' (Chint's mocks Americans' as they are always talking of 'doing' Europe) some more of Amsterdam and Rotterdam, before I left for India.
As planned last night, Sahil dutifully called me on my phone (my mobile phone in Holland, courtesy Chints) to wake me up, in the morning. My jet-lagged self woke up late and after a sumptous breakfast, cooked by Chints, and a hand-drawn map given by him, I was finding my way to Rotterdam Centraal to meet Sahil and Melissa.
Got myself a croissant and cappucino at the station (A crispy, flaky croissant and a cappucino, par excellence. How much I hate returning to the US when I am in Europe) and Sahil, Melissa and I walked towards the ticket machine. Both Sahil and Melissa have'nt been in NL for long themselves, so this was going to be a lot of fun, as we were to see.
After some ticketing-machine misadventures we got into what seemed like the train for Amsterdam Centraal. A casual observation made by me that none of the people at the station have got into the train, didnt really appear that strange then. It was only when the train started to move, went mid-way till the next station and then suddenly started re-tracking that we figured, something was wrong. Sahil sprinted all along the length of the train, to find no drivers or passengers at either ends. It was just the three of us, happily chatting away in our seats, clueless of our plight to come. Much discussion followed; whether we should break open the doors and walk on the tracks (This is not Bombay, someone said) or just wait till someone finds us here, which seemed highly impossible. So Melissa, the smartest one of our lot (Thank God for her, she knew the emergency number to call, unlike Sahil or even Chintan, as we got to know later, had no clue about it) called emergency. The conversation on the phone, as she reiterated later started off as such:
M: Hello, Is this Emergency?
E: Yes, What do you need, an ambulance, a fire-engine or the police?
M: Why don't you first hear my emergency and then decide for yourself?
:)
The Emergency helper really seemed to have a decent sense of humour; he told her something like "Someone will come to save you soon, Don't worry!" And to think, just before this we were exchanging notes on how we thought the Dutch were really rude!
In a few minutes, two train-drivers were trudging towards us, on the tracks and literally "saved" us. Sahil and I had already started off explaining ourselves, to which they were amused and gave us a "Ya, This happens all the time!" look. The walk back on the tracks, with our bemused "saviours" has been captured on film, by your's truly. The "saviours" were only too thrilled to be on film; they had had their 15 minutes of fame and we, our freedom.
The correct train, albeit late, took us into Amsterdam, where our first stop was for batteries and a map of the city for Sahil. We then, walked through some of the narrow shopping streets, window shopping and getting a feel of the place. Melissa and I exchanged notes on one of our favourite stores H&M, found one and walked into it to get my unequipped self, a winter cap. While Melissa and Sahil indulged in Frites (Fries; thick and oily ones, served with a small fork and mayo on the side), I stared at the Food Wall - a sort of vending-machine-of-a-wall selling Dutch burgers. We then moved on towards 'Daam Square' winding our way through more narrow streetscapes.
At Daam Square, a 'Grolsch' beer vendor, stared at us, all complete with a horse-drawn carriage and beer in barrels. A quick bite at a Middle Eastern Falafel place (There seemed to be many of these around) and we moved on, eagerly trying to make our way to the 'destination of the day', the 'Red-light district'. Melissa had been there before, so Sahil and I geared up for our virgin visit, to the world's most fascinating prostitution market-place.
The Red-light District (RLD, for future reference) of Amsterdam, is one of the best examples of contextually-adapted architecture, I have ever seen. I have already described, the Dutch fascination with exhibiting interior spaces, through massive window openings, to the public outside (The saying 'Washing dirty linen in public' was probably coined by them, too). The RLD beautifully adapts the age-old Dutch exhibitionist ideas, overlays them with their overtly-transparent facades and creates one of the most fascinating retail displays, that too; in realtime. The 'window-wares' (seems like an appropriate term to use here) move around, talk on the phone, comb their hair, wear make-up, do most things women can, albeit in a constricted space. They also gesture, call out, try to lure you into buying them; each 'window-ware' has her own skill-set she tries to use, to draw customers. Potential customers walk-by the display windows, peering into them, trying to see what suits their tastes and what doesnt; pretty much what you would do outside Macy's or Harrod's. The big difference that goes without saying of course, is that in this case, the customer can interact with the window-ware and haggle if need be, on the spot. A typical interested customer, would knock on the door, adjacent to the display-window, negotiate or atleast try to, and then walk-in. The curtains are then drawn across the door and the window, as it's time for business. Once done, you would more often than not, see a customer leave happily, after saying his polite good-bye's (We knew the look of happiness, when Melissa observed a guy light up a smoke with a look of content, as he left)
The RLD comprises of a series of architectural protoypes spread across both sides of the canal, within the urban pockets, juxtaposed with regular residential land-use. Each architectural prototype, appears on the facade as a door and a window, lined with red tube-lights, usually overlooking a narrow alley, that may at times be just wide enough to fit one average sized person. (There were times, when I was squeezing my way through and was jump-started at the sight of a woman peeping at me from within a sudden window, that appeared out of nowhere) In most cases, the prostitute, lives where she works (a home-office of sorts; that is usually 5 ft x 5 ft, fits in a bed, a wash-basin with a mirror and if large enough, a couch). In the RLD, ordinary life overlaps with business just as common people do with the prostitutes.
The red tube lights were an interesting element of the street-scape, as there were areas where, (and this may sound exaggerated, but it's true) one window of a house was red-light lined and the adjacent one was'nt. Of course, the architect's with the wild imagination that we were, we started off on various theories justifying the same. I began expounding on a make-believe scenario, where a bored housewife might just hang a red light outside her room window, to have some legal fun and make some extra bucks along with it; a light that can be easily retractable when her husband comes home. Alternatively, the husband, might just want to indulge at his neighbour's place and take a pit-stop next-door, before coming back home.
(As I was later informed, there is a festival, when every house hangs a red-lantern outside. I was beginning to like the spirit of this city.)
Humour aside, there was seriousness in this market-place. Prostitutes are considered victims of society and are legal tax-paying citizens. The Dutch are culturally, a highly tolerant society, towards what may seem conservative in most nations.
We walked into 'De Wallenwinkel' which was a 'Prostitutie Informatie Centrum'; a Prostitution Information Centre; that sold anything from books, pictures and information about the RLD, the prostitutes, their hygeine to guided tours of the RLD with a former sexworker, touristy souveneirs, erotic toys and edible underwear. And 'De Wallenwinkel' was situated next to a church, whose bells were audible far and wide. Nice!
A group of young girls, clad in shocking pink tights were receiving their first lesson, in conducting the tours. We walked through more streets and plazas of the RLD, trying to find newer windows with newer kinds of prostitutes, (Melissa and I wondered if there were any men on display someplace, other than the transvestites we had seen earlier). En route, we passed some SexShows and Live-Sex Theatres, that gave us a small promo of the rather elaborated show going on inside. For a reasonable rate of 5 Euros we could have watched Adult shows, live-sex shows and the likes, but we politely refused and moved on. The next stop was to be at the Canal by the Centraal Station for the much-talked about way to see Amsterdam, the Canal Tour.
The boat we were to take our tour in, finally left in what seemed like eternity and we were cruising across the inner canals and finally on River Amstel for the next one hour. While parts of the canal ride put us to sleep, other parts of it were really interesting, as we could see within the boat houses, that seemed to flank the peripheries of each canal. Cruising by in the 'Holland International', I could be spotted juggling my cameras at the sight of a humungous Foster project or an alternatively retro home-interior. I had read that the two best ways of seeing Amsterdam, are by a bike and by boat, and at the end of this canal ride, I was thrilled on having done atleast one of the two. As Felix Marti-Ibanez best describes it: 'In Amsterdam the water is the mistress and the land the vassal. Throughout the city there are as many canals and drawbridges as bracelets on a Gypsy's bronzed arms.'
The multiple canals that intertwined with each other and seemed to give birth to various bridges all along their expanse, was a phenomenon very different from my previous similar experience in Venice. While Amsterdam canals revealed modern architecture all along, including the bridges that spanned across them, Venice was all about traditionalism set in water or even across it. Amsterdam provides a mix of the old and the new; old Dutch houses flanked on either sides with modern buildings; antique-ish bicycles ringing by luxury, tiny European cars on the streets and traditionally crooked Dutch houses, with the slickest modern interiors. (Interesting Dutch house trivia: They are traditionally built leaning towards the street, giving them an overall crooked look. Each house has a hook on the facade, somewhere at the second floor height, which was used in olden days to draw furniture up, into the houses. Another reason for those huge windows.)
Amsterdam's openness bowled me over; I started off thinking this was the Las Vegas of Europe, but later chided myself for undermining the former's character by thinking so. There was thick culture here, just as is in all parts of Europe; which reflects a touch of modernism. Amsterdam's long history of liberal tolerance is displayed in it's open, unrestricting societal norms where the sacred and profane co-exist as good neighbours should.
A quick phone call from Chints had earlier established our dinner plans; Melissa and I were to cook at his place. So the canal ride was followed up by a brisk night walk by various Coffee-shops (I had been earlier instructed by Chints "If you want to have coffee Shweyta, go to a Cafe; if you want to have drugged coffee, walk into a Coffeeshop") to take a look at the RLD by night. An alternate Amsterdam was emerging in the dark; this city has dual character and it's sins come forth at night, in all their glory.
A few sin-shots later (Sahil was stealthily successful in getting a shot of a prostitute in her display-window) we were walking towards the Centraal station to catch our Intercity to Rotterdam.
Back in Rotterdam, a splendid dinner evening followed, with my spicy 'Chhole' (as per Chint's request), Melissa's tasty Chicken and Chintan's 'Jeera rice' and 'papad'.
My plan for tomorrow, initially, was to go back to explore Amsterdam on a bike. Chints put forward an alternative plan; for me to accompany him and his classmates to Brussels, where they were to see some exhibitions on Moscow and I could move about the city by myself. The temptation to travel and see another country in such a short trip, took over my initial reluctance to travel on a Schengen that was'nt multiple entry. But Chintan coaxed me into it and I was sold on the idea.
Now I was left with just one day, for 'doing' (Chint's mocks Americans' as they are always talking of 'doing' Europe) some more of Amsterdam and Rotterdam, before I left for India.
Friday, January 13, 2006
Day 1 - Heathrow/Schipol/Rotterdam
Day 1 - (Friday, 13th Jan 06')
After a rather comfortable flight, Raj and I landed at London Heathrow. The plane having taxied far from the terminal building, only delayed us more, until we realised that Raj's connecting flight was to take off in the next 30 mins. What followed was a mad race to security, where I saw him rush through the newly tightened security procedures at LHR and bid him good-bye. Common sense evaded me, as I later realised that I needed to go through the same security (at Terminal 4) for my connecting flight into Schipol Airport, Amsterdam.
A security check later, I could be found doing my Heathrow window-shopping that has become sort of a customary ritual on my travels through Europe. This was probably my 7th or 8th time at Heathrow, having mostly flown British Airways and I bet I can still tell you how many WHS's they have and which one's sell phonecards and which don't:)
Having used up my leftover quid for coffee and a bottle of water, I found myself voyeur-ing away. "Froffee: AMT's Unique 'Real Coffee' Milkshake" caught my eye, and I found myself saying "Froffee" with a thick brit accent for the rest of my time there. Another empty and short flight later, I was landing on a vast canvas, sprayed in all shades of green, interspersed with siver linings of canals. Schipol Airport is very far from Amsterdam, was what I was told later, thus clarifying to my urban mindset, that this natural expanse of flat-land was not Amsterdam.
Soon to start were the amusing set of incidences that my Dutch trip is all about. A quick call to Chintan (my junior from architecture under-grad in Mumbai and host in Dutch-land) clarified the train timing and place to meet up with him at Rotterdam Centraal (Rotterdam Central station as the name suggests). Chintan attends the Master's program at Berlage (pronounced "Ber-la-kkhhe" in Dutch as I was instructed several times) situated in Rotterdam and presently lives there.
(Impression: Was I being silly American or the ticket-counter lady seemed a tad bit rude?) (As I was to find out later, the Dutch are pretty abrupt by nature, which can appear rude to most people) Well whatever; I was on my way to 'Information' to find out about the 'Intercity' train to Rotterdam Centraal. Chintan had strictly instructed me to take an 'Intercity' train as it was the 'fast' train, the other two being the 'Snell' (medium-paced) and the 'Stop' (slow) trains.
At the 'Information' I was told that there were no trains running between Schipol and Rotterdam and so I had to take a bus till Leiden and catch the train to Rotterdam from there. ("Oh so much like the weekend subway torture back home" I said to myself) So lugging my heavy but single bag (the exact reason why I go single-bagged in Europe) I found my way to the correct bus-stop outside, first B-21, then C-23, then finally into the bus where a random maniac set the mood with his hilarious 'dutch' banter as we drove across the flat-scapes of Holland, with a complete yellow circle for a sun, that seemed to say "Ashu Bleeft" (Dutch phrase meaning 'As you please' said for anything, anywhere, at anytime, as my host instructed me)
Dragged the bag at Leiden station to have yet another interaction with a rude Dutch native. I, in all my proper American mannerism "Where can I get the train to Rotterdam from?" (Although I must admit I asked the wrong guy; he was the lost property manager at the building outside the station) and he in his thick Dutch accent "How do I know, Ask someone at the station". Me "Huh?" and He "Hmmphh!"
Into the station and into my train. The train ride revealed houses with huge windows and a full view of the activities going on inside (I was later told that the Dutch are very house-proud and love to exhibit their houses, which would become very apparent to me in the days to come. Windows, as high as the ceiling and wide as a wall, in some cases, exhibit the people living inside, going about their regular house chores, walking/ using the room/ talking/ dining...just living, completely aloof of their audience. Peeping into people's homes became my favourite activity on this trip, as each interior displayed the decor, beauty and design sense of the owner; as in a doll house. House-watch continues on the following days)
Reached Rotterdam Centraal finally, only to find to the dismay of my spoilt American convenience, no escalator or elevator. I could'nt help but wonder, how taken-for-granted these ammenities are in American public spaces. On the other side of the stairs and a few feet later, my bag and I were thrilled to see Chintan waiting patiently for us at the entrance of the station.
We picked up his bike and then walked to his apartment; en route paying respects to 'THE' Dutch Architecture office, OMA and it's God Rem Koolhauss (not to be seen, but assumed to be inside).
Chintan's apartment in a few words can be described as right out of an IKEA catalogue; perfectly modern, fully equipped and "new". Although Chints was unhappy about this place (He loved his old Dutch house better), I must admit, I was pleasantly surprised. Coming from my rent-control pre-war Queens apartment, this modernised albeit IKEA assemblage, that too rented out not owned, seemed unique to me. This is what Rotterdam is all about, now that I think about it. Modern, new, designed, retro-fitted, built from scratch after the Germans bombed it completely during WWII!
Dinner was to be at DUDOK; this restaurant recommended by my ex-roomie and friend from SCI_Arc, as the 'place that sells the best apple pie in the whole world'. At Chintan's mention, I noticed the 'poor quality and arrogance' of Dutch waiters, (The Dutch are very proud people and do not believe themselves to be inferior or sub-level to anyone. That is the reason why, Dutch waiters hardly ever wait upon you, as we saw at DUDOK)
DUDOK (In case you're wondering on the uppercase, I have to emphasize, since it is a name tucked away into my memory, for apple-pie reasons:) is a spacious restaurant, with candle-lit tables and a regular Friday night bustle. After a somewhat light dinner, Chintan bought me the much revered apple-pie (the freshness of which wafts through the restaurant) in his customised version (with a scoop of vanilla ice cream). The experience of indulging into it, was incomprehensible and hence cannot be expressed in words. All I can say, is that it's a taste stored on my palate forever.
(Note: Europe does this to me. The tiramisu in Venice, Italy was a similar experience, to store the taste of which, I gave up tiramisu altogether, until a few years later, when I could'nt control my urges:) DUDOK's apple-pie has cast the same spell)
Post-dinner conversation found us walking towards Chintan's school (The Berlage Institute; say 'Ber-la-kkhhe') as I was offered a small tour of the small building. Sahil and Melissa, among others were met with, (Sahil is another junior from architecture under-grad and Melissa is his classmate, from the Dominican Republic) and I re-lived my studio hours at SCI_Arc with them.
(Impression: Architecture studios' are a prototypical environment, that breed similar junkies, all over the world)
Some regular chit-chat and after a brief plan for the next day, we left to walk back to Chintan's place; Chints, me and his bike. (Chint's pointed out the ever-lit storey of the OMA office, where architects sweat night and day, one of them being his roommate, whom he barely sees at home)
As I took in the city by night and said good bye to my first evening here, the full moon stared at me blankly over the post-modern Rotterdam sky. At Chint's place, even my bed had character, (It was under a sloping roof, that stooped low enough to hurt my hand when I tossed in bed).
The plan for tomorrow was to rise early and go to Amsterdam with travelling-Sahil (as he's known, because of his blog and his travels)
After a rather comfortable flight, Raj and I landed at London Heathrow. The plane having taxied far from the terminal building, only delayed us more, until we realised that Raj's connecting flight was to take off in the next 30 mins. What followed was a mad race to security, where I saw him rush through the newly tightened security procedures at LHR and bid him good-bye. Common sense evaded me, as I later realised that I needed to go through the same security (at Terminal 4) for my connecting flight into Schipol Airport, Amsterdam.
A security check later, I could be found doing my Heathrow window-shopping that has become sort of a customary ritual on my travels through Europe. This was probably my 7th or 8th time at Heathrow, having mostly flown British Airways and I bet I can still tell you how many WHS's they have and which one's sell phonecards and which don't:)
Having used up my leftover quid for coffee and a bottle of water, I found myself voyeur-ing away. "Froffee: AMT's Unique 'Real Coffee' Milkshake" caught my eye, and I found myself saying "Froffee" with a thick brit accent for the rest of my time there. Another empty and short flight later, I was landing on a vast canvas, sprayed in all shades of green, interspersed with siver linings of canals. Schipol Airport is very far from Amsterdam, was what I was told later, thus clarifying to my urban mindset, that this natural expanse of flat-land was not Amsterdam.
Soon to start were the amusing set of incidences that my Dutch trip is all about. A quick call to Chintan (my junior from architecture under-grad in Mumbai and host in Dutch-land) clarified the train timing and place to meet up with him at Rotterdam Centraal (Rotterdam Central station as the name suggests). Chintan attends the Master's program at Berlage (pronounced "Ber-la-kkhhe" in Dutch as I was instructed several times) situated in Rotterdam and presently lives there.
(Impression: Was I being silly American or the ticket-counter lady seemed a tad bit rude?) (As I was to find out later, the Dutch are pretty abrupt by nature, which can appear rude to most people) Well whatever; I was on my way to 'Information' to find out about the 'Intercity' train to Rotterdam Centraal. Chintan had strictly instructed me to take an 'Intercity' train as it was the 'fast' train, the other two being the 'Snell' (medium-paced) and the 'Stop' (slow) trains.
At the 'Information' I was told that there were no trains running between Schipol and Rotterdam and so I had to take a bus till Leiden and catch the train to Rotterdam from there. ("Oh so much like the weekend subway torture back home" I said to myself) So lugging my heavy but single bag (the exact reason why I go single-bagged in Europe) I found my way to the correct bus-stop outside, first B-21, then C-23, then finally into the bus where a random maniac set the mood with his hilarious 'dutch' banter as we drove across the flat-scapes of Holland, with a complete yellow circle for a sun, that seemed to say "Ashu Bleeft" (Dutch phrase meaning 'As you please' said for anything, anywhere, at anytime, as my host instructed me)
Dragged the bag at Leiden station to have yet another interaction with a rude Dutch native. I, in all my proper American mannerism "Where can I get the train to Rotterdam from?" (Although I must admit I asked the wrong guy; he was the lost property manager at the building outside the station) and he in his thick Dutch accent "How do I know, Ask someone at the station". Me "Huh?" and He "Hmmphh!"
Into the station and into my train. The train ride revealed houses with huge windows and a full view of the activities going on inside (I was later told that the Dutch are very house-proud and love to exhibit their houses, which would become very apparent to me in the days to come. Windows, as high as the ceiling and wide as a wall, in some cases, exhibit the people living inside, going about their regular house chores, walking/ using the room/ talking/ dining...just living, completely aloof of their audience. Peeping into people's homes became my favourite activity on this trip, as each interior displayed the decor, beauty and design sense of the owner; as in a doll house. House-watch continues on the following days)
Reached Rotterdam Centraal finally, only to find to the dismay of my spoilt American convenience, no escalator or elevator. I could'nt help but wonder, how taken-for-granted these ammenities are in American public spaces. On the other side of the stairs and a few feet later, my bag and I were thrilled to see Chintan waiting patiently for us at the entrance of the station.
We picked up his bike and then walked to his apartment; en route paying respects to 'THE' Dutch Architecture office, OMA and it's God Rem Koolhauss (not to be seen, but assumed to be inside).
Chintan's apartment in a few words can be described as right out of an IKEA catalogue; perfectly modern, fully equipped and "new". Although Chints was unhappy about this place (He loved his old Dutch house better), I must admit, I was pleasantly surprised. Coming from my rent-control pre-war Queens apartment, this modernised albeit IKEA assemblage, that too rented out not owned, seemed unique to me. This is what Rotterdam is all about, now that I think about it. Modern, new, designed, retro-fitted, built from scratch after the Germans bombed it completely during WWII!
Dinner was to be at DUDOK; this restaurant recommended by my ex-roomie and friend from SCI_Arc, as the 'place that sells the best apple pie in the whole world'. At Chintan's mention, I noticed the 'poor quality and arrogance' of Dutch waiters, (The Dutch are very proud people and do not believe themselves to be inferior or sub-level to anyone. That is the reason why, Dutch waiters hardly ever wait upon you, as we saw at DUDOK)
DUDOK (In case you're wondering on the uppercase, I have to emphasize, since it is a name tucked away into my memory, for apple-pie reasons:) is a spacious restaurant, with candle-lit tables and a regular Friday night bustle. After a somewhat light dinner, Chintan bought me the much revered apple-pie (the freshness of which wafts through the restaurant) in his customised version (with a scoop of vanilla ice cream). The experience of indulging into it, was incomprehensible and hence cannot be expressed in words. All I can say, is that it's a taste stored on my palate forever.
(Note: Europe does this to me. The tiramisu in Venice, Italy was a similar experience, to store the taste of which, I gave up tiramisu altogether, until a few years later, when I could'nt control my urges:) DUDOK's apple-pie has cast the same spell)
Post-dinner conversation found us walking towards Chintan's school (The Berlage Institute; say 'Ber-la-kkhhe') as I was offered a small tour of the small building. Sahil and Melissa, among others were met with, (Sahil is another junior from architecture under-grad and Melissa is his classmate, from the Dominican Republic) and I re-lived my studio hours at SCI_Arc with them.
(Impression: Architecture studios' are a prototypical environment, that breed similar junkies, all over the world)
Some regular chit-chat and after a brief plan for the next day, we left to walk back to Chintan's place; Chints, me and his bike. (Chint's pointed out the ever-lit storey of the OMA office, where architects sweat night and day, one of them being his roommate, whom he barely sees at home)
As I took in the city by night and said good bye to my first evening here, the full moon stared at me blankly over the post-modern Rotterdam sky. At Chint's place, even my bed had character, (It was under a sloping roof, that stooped low enough to hurt my hand when I tossed in bed).
The plan for tomorrow was to rise early and go to Amsterdam with travelling-Sahil (as he's known, because of his blog and his travels)
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Day 0 - Departure from JFK
Day 0 - (Thursday, 12th Jan 06')
Another one of those trips; going to India with a Euro-stop. It's become a dogma with me, of sorts; any trip outside the US doesnt make sense if it doesnt incorporate India in it, and any trip to India doesnt seem complete without a stop in Europe. The two sort of go hand-in-hand. And of course going by past experiences, flying long distances alone, can get extremely boring, so for that and other reasons, Raj and I were flying together.
After hours of research and itinerary-matching, I had finally worked out an itinerary that took Raj and me to London together, from where he moved on to Mumbai and I, to Amsterdam. After a short trip to the Netherlands, I was to be off to Mumbai for about 10 days, (my shortest stay in Mumbai, ever since I stopped living there). Our return flights, of course were booked together.
So the vacation started today; spent the day packing and a trip into the city for some errands. Called a cab for JFK and after the regular checking-in etc found ourselves on a rather empty flight headed to London.
Another one of those trips; going to India with a Euro-stop. It's become a dogma with me, of sorts; any trip outside the US doesnt make sense if it doesnt incorporate India in it, and any trip to India doesnt seem complete without a stop in Europe. The two sort of go hand-in-hand. And of course going by past experiences, flying long distances alone, can get extremely boring, so for that and other reasons, Raj and I were flying together.
After hours of research and itinerary-matching, I had finally worked out an itinerary that took Raj and me to London together, from where he moved on to Mumbai and I, to Amsterdam. After a short trip to the Netherlands, I was to be off to Mumbai for about 10 days, (my shortest stay in Mumbai, ever since I stopped living there). Our return flights, of course were booked together.
So the vacation started today; spent the day packing and a trip into the city for some errands. Called a cab for JFK and after the regular checking-in etc found ourselves on a rather empty flight headed to London.
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