CityHangover Guestblog, Vol II
As promised, the first of two CityHangover Guestblog entries. First up, Sarah. (Who, by the way, insisted that we use her grossly outdated 2002 edition of Let's Go Europe! throughout the trip, despite us having a myriad of more recent travel guides.)
This May Be The Spaceshake Talking...
It is my honor to contribute to the CityHangover tradition, which, against all odds, seems to have developed something of a following (who ARE you people, and why do you tolerate him if you don't have, say, a history from the college years or a familial obligation?). I will do my best to, as Curt instructed, "walk the fine line of appropriateness." To know Curt is to know that said line is generally disregarded, so I'll obey to the greatest extent possible.
So after a series of travel adventures and a lovely day (Brits' term, not mine) in London, Curt, Tim, and I set off for Amsterdam, home of the world-famous Van Gogh museum, Anne Frank's horrific end, and stoners from 'round the world. Admittedly, the third item seems to have really made its mark on the Amsterdam culture, with an embarrassing human-to-Pizza Hut ratio of somewhere around 3:1. The famed Red Light District, which I had imagined as a gritty-glamorous epicenter of sexual deviance, was actually just sad, and even its sticky streets were not immune to the Pizza Hut influx. But one burning question was answered: Sex shows do not, in fact, close for Easter. (Maybe we're NOT going to Hell!)
In an attempt to recreate the carelessness (read: laziness) of our college days, we decided to simply find lodging upon arrival. We soon realized, however, that two things have changed since our glory days past: (1) The Euro has significantly strengthened against the dollar; and (2) Our standards have risen (who knew?). Thus, we were left with but one hotel option: A double room at the Golden Tulip Inn. Sounds lovely, eh? For 200 Euros a night, we were blessed with an intimate room just off the elevator shaft with a sloped ceiling, one window that couldn't be opened, and one hard double bed. In case you are worrying that the one double bed would prove awkward for the three of us, rest assured: The proximity to the elevator ensured that anyone coming or going actually seemed to be in the room with us, detracting from any otherwise uncomfortable moments.
Sadly, among the excitement of the Golden Tulip Inn, Amsterdam's quaint coffee shops, and Pizza Hut, we saved the Anne Frank House for our final day in the city, and the lines were too long to bear. I was momentarily disappointed that I would not get to see the tiny space that Anne shared with several members of her family, trapped inside while the city bustled outside. But then I realized that our night at the Golden Tulip Inn was more or less the same. And isn't it better to do than to imagine? Holla!
I'm still not sure how Vegas got rights to "The City of Sin" distinction but Amsterdam should definitely put up a fight for that whole "What happens in...stays in..." mantra. Never have I felt so dirty or disoriented upon leaving a historic city. Then again, maybe it was the Dutch language, which seems to operate on a simple principle: Take an English word, add four syllables, stick "laan" on the end, and call it a day. And with that, I'm finishedstraatschmubenlaan. Dank u wel (or, as Curt told many a native waiter, "Donkeyville")!
This May Be The Spaceshake Talking...
It is my honor to contribute to the CityHangover tradition, which, against all odds, seems to have developed something of a following (who ARE you people, and why do you tolerate him if you don't have, say, a history from the college years or a familial obligation?). I will do my best to, as Curt instructed, "walk the fine line of appropriateness." To know Curt is to know that said line is generally disregarded, so I'll obey to the greatest extent possible.
So after a series of travel adventures and a lovely day (Brits' term, not mine) in London, Curt, Tim, and I set off for Amsterdam, home of the world-famous Van Gogh museum, Anne Frank's horrific end, and stoners from 'round the world. Admittedly, the third item seems to have really made its mark on the Amsterdam culture, with an embarrassing human-to-Pizza Hut ratio of somewhere around 3:1. The famed Red Light District, which I had imagined as a gritty-glamorous epicenter of sexual deviance, was actually just sad, and even its sticky streets were not immune to the Pizza Hut influx. But one burning question was answered: Sex shows do not, in fact, close for Easter. (Maybe we're NOT going to Hell!)
In an attempt to recreate the carelessness (read: laziness) of our college days, we decided to simply find lodging upon arrival. We soon realized, however, that two things have changed since our glory days past: (1) The Euro has significantly strengthened against the dollar; and (2) Our standards have risen (who knew?). Thus, we were left with but one hotel option: A double room at the Golden Tulip Inn. Sounds lovely, eh? For 200 Euros a night, we were blessed with an intimate room just off the elevator shaft with a sloped ceiling, one window that couldn't be opened, and one hard double bed. In case you are worrying that the one double bed would prove awkward for the three of us, rest assured: The proximity to the elevator ensured that anyone coming or going actually seemed to be in the room with us, detracting from any otherwise uncomfortable moments.
Sadly, among the excitement of the Golden Tulip Inn, Amsterdam's quaint coffee shops, and Pizza Hut, we saved the Anne Frank House for our final day in the city, and the lines were too long to bear. I was momentarily disappointed that I would not get to see the tiny space that Anne shared with several members of her family, trapped inside while the city bustled outside. But then I realized that our night at the Golden Tulip Inn was more or less the same. And isn't it better to do than to imagine? Holla!
I'm still not sure how Vegas got rights to "The City of Sin" distinction but Amsterdam should definitely put up a fight for that whole "What happens in...stays in..." mantra. Never have I felt so dirty or disoriented upon leaving a historic city. Then again, maybe it was the Dutch language, which seems to operate on a simple principle: Take an English word, add four syllables, stick "laan" on the end, and call it a day. And with that, I'm finishedstraatschmubenlaan. Dank u wel (or, as Curt told many a native waiter, "Donkeyville")!
posted by cjb at 9:54 AM
12 Comments:
Can you put together another post that tells me the difference between Holland, the Netherlands, Denmark, the Danish and the Dutch?
I still don't really know how many countries / people that is.
Whichever one made those Mohammed cartoons is my favorite.
Upon further research, it seems that "Holland" is named after a city in West Michigan known for its annual Tulip Festival, traditional Dutch food, and conservative tendencies.
"The Netherlands" finds its origins in the country's thriving prostitution industry -- original settlers had a hunch that the nether regions would eventually define their land.
"Dutch" refers to people who refuse to single-handedly pay for a date.
All others are Muslim-haters.
Sarah, I appreciated the witty update, but it failed to provide some basic information associated with all things Curtis. For instance, I'm left wondering how many people in Amsterdam have fat genes; which Dutch slang words are used for certain parts of the body (I'd be more specific, but I've run up against "the line"); and how many drinks were consumed as a result of unrelenting peer pressure. Please let me/us know.
Curtis, on Saturday, The Jesus and I went to a certain bar popular among Asian people. Let's just say that it's still awesome.
Yes, we did. We saw all 27 of your potential girlfriends.
Sarah, how many times was "S my D!" dropped? And I narrowly missed meeting your man. It was raining and he was otherwise incapacitated. maybe next time.
Despite a professed desire to chang bicks (bix?) with us, he couldn't make it out. It was raining. And this guy calls himself a soccer-jersey wearer...
I don't even deserve to own that jersey anymore. I used to be a beligerent, bick-changing, enumerating drunken a$$.
Now I am an old Brooklyn stoner too lazy to go into the city.
I'm sure Joey and The Jesus had a good time Saturday...because they f-ing called me at 4am. I expected it to big news, like "the Spice Girls showed up at the bar and started hooking up with everyone." Like "even the kid in the Babylon 5 t-shirt got some." But it was a pretty run of the mill message. Man, doesn't anyone ever sleep in that city? Errr...never mind.
it was pretty run of the mill, but I blame that on City Diner. It's sobering powers are unbelievable, especially the rigatone.
Uh, Ray Wiggum, you were definitely a "belligerent," "enumerating drunk-a$$" when I met you, but "bick-changing"? Don't kid yourself. You wore soccer jerseys to the bar for god's sake. I saved you.
Jesus/Joey, sorry I missed you fools. And yes, I know I left out the pertinent details, so here goes:
1. Fat genes are indeed prevalent in Amsterdam but more so in London. To illustrate this point, allow me to tell you a story: We were in line for a London attraction, surrounded by Brits, when Curt pointed and loudly proclaimed, "That's a typical British girl -- not at all good-looking, but really trendy." Also, while in Amsterdam, we met a friendly Aussie named Jemma at a coffee shop. While I admit she had fat genes, she was really cute, but Curt loudly decried this point later on. He did, however, in a "drunken" state, proclaim, "Jem, you're a godsend!", a phrase that we chose to repeat for the remainder of the week.
2. See the final paragraph of my guest blog. Hello, twatschmubenlaan.
3. We're all idiots. No peer pressure necessary.
4. "S my D" is apparently a U.S. exclusive -- I didn't hear that once. We did, however, hear a lot about Curt's "semis," which I said were pointless to talk about unless they were "fulls."
Thanks for filling in the blanks.
Joey - I begged a DJ to play "The New Workout Plan" this weekend a la our glory days at 46Gs, but he placated me with "All Falls Down" instead. It's just not the same, man.
And at the risk of being redundant, I once again call first dibs on Asians...
Ra - When I get back to NYC I would like to formally request the presence of the famed soccer jersey. It's the least you could do!
We'll have to break out the jersey and look for some bicks to chang at 46 Grand.
When are you coming back exactly, Curtis?
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