The joy of traveling again:: The Netherlands and Ireland

Although Covid is everywhere and, apparently, Monkeypox is gaining ground (I literally have zero bandwidth for another pandemic, epidemic, endemic anything), it was with the utmost thrill that Tom and I left the States on July 10 and headed to the Netherlands. Anyone not new here knows that Nederland is a very special place for us. We lived there for the summer after we got married and have since returned several times. Having not been since 2017, we were due, and, per the usual, it did not disappoint.

For the first time we stayed in the canal district, on Keizersgracht (emperor’s canal). We lived just off the Vondelpark (think Central Park for Amsterdam) in ‘04 and have since stayed near that area, in Museumplein. But the canals are so beautiful and romantic and vibrant, and we really enjoyed our hotel. Amsterdam is very flat, so it’s especially easy to walk miles and miles with little effort. It also takes little effort to eat and drink well and to have fun. Truly, if you don’t enjoy Amsterdam and the Dutch, the problem is you. It is a marvelously functional, happy country and it is beautiful and friendly and everyone is trilingual at the least and their quality of life is epic.

We took day trips to Haarlem (new to both of us) and The Hague (new to Tom), and while Haarlem was undoubtedly gorgeous, it was too perfect and quiet for our taste. The Hague, however, which I fell in love with in ‘17, is extremely cool, and I was pleased that Tom liked it so much. We had a scrumptious brunch upon arrival, went to Mauritshuis to see Girl With a Pearl Earring and the Goldfinch (neither ever gets old; nor does the ceiling in the home/museum; even Tom appeared taken with Girl [he is a sucker for Vermeer]), and then participated in a food-and-drink walking tour. Our guide was a born-and-raised local, and our tour mates were an absolutely delightful three-generation family who were all, originally, from South Africa. Four now live in Sydney, two in Utrecht, and one (the matriarch) remains in Cape Town.

During the hours we spent together, some of us stomached the skin-on pickled herring (I did it, and I never need to do it again), we met a French monk who has long lived in The Hague but who did a stint in “Be-tesda,” just down the street from my house, we learned just how much beef any one of us wants to ingest in a day, and the ex-South Africans shared why they’d emigrated. Honestly, their reasons sounded sadly familiar to the thoughts I often have. Not the same -their main issues were rampant crime, lack of jobs, and a feeling of no future- but similar in the sense of thinking that they’d best cut bait while they could.

Every person we met in the Netherlands (and that I met later in Ireland) expressed the greatest sadness and horror about the state of the US right now. Guns, women’s rights, trump, Fox news…to a T, everyone was enormously well informed, wholly horrified, and vexed. I cannot tell you how freeing it felt to not worry, ever, about being shot.

One of the S.Africans, now in Sydney, runs an amazing travel company for safaris and trips into Africa. If anyone is interested, let me know. I am hoping to do a multi-generational family trip via his group in the not-so-distant future.

Perhaps the thing I love most about travel are experiences like these. Downing slick fish with strangers while being admonished to keep one eye peeled for scavenger gulls who will, with no hesitation, steal the fish from your throat. Meeting monks who have been called around the world and who now brew a wide variety of ales from their monastery and retain the most delightful twinkle in their eyes. Speaking and listening to folks like the man who drove me to the airport in Amsterdam and was, I learned, from Somalia but orphaned as a young teen, arrived in the Netherlands alone at age 15, and is now married and studying for an advanced degree in psychology so that he can help children who have endured trauma.

The world is such a remarkable place, and I have missed it these past couple years. It is humbling and inspiring in the best ways, including hard ones that force growth and make (most of) us better.

On July 18, Tom flew home, and I flew to Dublin for a solo adventure across a good bit of the emerald isle. Having been warned repeatedly about hideous delays flying out of Schiphol, I arrived at 9:30a for a 1:40p flight. At 2:30, FIVE HOURS AFTER ARRIVING, I finally got through the security scanners and passport control and then ran roughly three quarters of a mile to my gate. Keep in mind that one Aer Lingus rep had told me at 10am that the flight was already canceled, but another said she had heard of no such thing, and no one could every confirm anything.

So, heaving and sweaty, I was, as you can imagine, infinitely thankful to arrive at the back 40 of Schiphol to find the plane waiting for everyone else stuck in the lines I’d only just been freed from. A ridiculously handsome Irish flight attendant told me with a winning smile that I could “relax now,” and it’s the first time in my life that anyone has told me to relax and I didn’t immediately want to stab them.

I would like to again applaud those who love travel and will deal with a lot of shit to do it as well as those who make it happen with a smile or at least good spirit. Not ONE person in the five-hour line with me got angry or even peevish. The group of Aussies behind me watched my bags when I went to find out if there was any help I could get because my flight was leaving in 40 minutes and we were not even close to security (No!) and only complained that there was not a bar available to people in line. A darling couple trying desperate to get to Israel (they were Palestinian, and honest to god, I hope they are always safe and well and not removed from their land) just kept embracing and laughing, and even when you could tell they were terrified about missing the only flight out, they stayed zen and smiling. I realized anew how much negative energy is saved by having perspective and gratitude and staying calm. What were any of us going to do but wait? So why not wait with peace and appreciation for the fact that we were waiting to safely and freely go somewhere of our choosing?

I landed in Dublin, successfully caught my €7 shuttle to College Green, and walked my giant bag and self to my hotel. No one has taken a faster shower and gotten cute so as to immediately head to a bookstore before closing as did I. I bought seven damn books of Irish lit (I have a problem), took myself out to read one of them at a Lebanese restaurant, and while there befriended the Spanish waitress, Georgina (surely that cannot be the Spanish spelling of Georgina, but I have not yet looked it up), who moved to Dublin ten years ago and loves it, despite the insanity of rent costs wreaking havoc on the city right now.

The next day began my tour, but I’ll tell you about it in a later post. For now, I love you NL and IRL and cannot wait to visit you again.

+2, oops

Paris, days 1-4

As Paris is utterly spectacular and noisy and vibrant and expansive and cozy and full of cheese and baguettes and street art and epic works of art and a river and traffic jams and music and old people and children hand in hand, we are having a grand time. 

More details later, but for now, pictures. 

the Seine

Rue des Rosiers, near L’As du Fallafel

St. Germain/Odéon 

in the Luxembourg Garden  

Les Halles

Saint-Germain des Prés  

La Tour Eiffel

keys in Montmartre

goat cheese with ash from La Petite Ferme d’Ines in the Marche des Enfants Rouge (he oldest market in Paris) 

Les Halles

dancing with bubbles in Les Marais

København

We arrived in Copenhagen early on the morning of the 5th and have been going full steam ahead since. The weather has been spectacular, a wonderful reprieve from the steaming pea soup we left behind in DC. 

For most of the first day we walked around getting our bearings and enjoying the Danish Design Museum. We are staying in the Latin Quarter, across the street from the University of Copenhagen. Founded in 1479, it is one of the oldest in Europe, and the main building is quite beautiful. 

the University of Copenhagen

The Design Museum was undergoing some (seemingly needed) renovation but we very much enjoyed the 20th century and Danish Design Classics exhibits. There was a fascinating film on Børge Mogensen, the famed Danish furniture maker, and an eye-popping collection of all the Danish chairs that inspired mid-century design and (many of which) remain beloved and revered. One of the coolest things I learned was the great degree to which Danish artists and designers were influenced by Japanese art, especially the way nature was expressed and honored through it. 

On a wall outside the Danish Design Museum: what remains after some of the ivy was stripped from the wall. I just love this.

Dinner on day 1 was at Aamann's 1921, a warm, stylish place whose chef, Adam Aamann, has updated the humble smørrebrød, an open-faced rye-bread sandwich traditionally loaded with mayo and meat, to a refined dish with more vegetables and herbs. Now known as the King of Smørrebrød, Aamann also makes the soaps for the restaurant bathrooms, and seemingly everything in between.

Our meal was a beautiful one but not terribly memorable; most dishes, including both our smørrebrøds (see the salmon one below), needed salt. But the service was impeccable, the ambiance inviting, and two of our choices, the BBQ ribs of free-range port, new onions, and rocket sauce, and the potato compote with pine shoots, gooseberries, onion, and bacon, were marvelous. 

Yesterday we started with a three-hour bike tour around Copenhagen which was really helpful in knocking out a number of sights in a single, educational way, and it was fun. Like Amsterdam, Copenhagen is a major biking city. The Little Mermaid? Check. Amalienborg, home of the Danish royals? Check. Churches and harbors? Yep. Plus the Free State of Christiania,  excellent history and exercise. 

^The Little Mermaid (Den Lille Havfrue) and the view of Frederiks Kirke from Amalienborg.^ 

^clockwise from top left: Nyhavn (New Harbor); the amazingly cool spire atop Vor Frelsers Kirke; my first snegle; a croissant (Denmark is known for its pastries).^

^the Free State of Christiania, a commune with delineated borders inside of Copenhagen. Though residents (~800) were once excused from paying taxes, they now do. Though you are really not allowed to sell marijuana in Copenhagen, the police seem to have given up enforcing the rules within Christiania. The only thing banned on Pushers' Row is taking photographs. It's a neat place although sadly, the original hippie ideals are giving way to drug-based crime and a rather impoverished life within (according to our guide).^

Last night was dinner at Amass. But "dinner" does the experience an injustice, so I'll write about Amass in a separate post. Go there if you can!

And today was a ridiculously fun day that proved over and over again that travel is the greatest education and opportunity for truly memorable experiences, that spontaneity, flexibility, and following your nose often result in magic, and that following your passions (specifically today: design and food) is always a win.

It involved a return trip to Refshaleøen, an island in Copenhagen's harbor (and where Amass is located), to spend the day eating and drinking through Reffen, an outdoor Copenhagen street food market built from repurposed shipping containers. There are food trucks, all manner of juice and alcoholic beverage, some art and idea labs, and a delightful vintage market. Due to a major finding at said vintage market, the day also involved renting bikes to head back into Christianshavn, the nearest neighborhood with an ATM, then biking back to Refshaleøen and getting a bit distracted by the Sweden-England game which required another beer and lots of cheering, then going to the market only to find it closed but determinedly banging on the door until the delightful Danish proprietor let us in with a gentle smile and an "I'd given up on you." I then explained the bike rentals and rides to and from Christianshavn, but not the half-drunk beer in my hand (sorry Sverige), to which he replied, "Oh, that is far. Well, let's pack it up."

watching the game in Reffen

The rest of that story, which includes a delightful encounter on the metro afterwards, will be detailed tomorrow. But for now, some final photos from Reffen which was utterly delicious and fun in every way.

That pulled pork sandwich was one of the single best things I have ever eaten anywhere. Also, three cheers for Jacobsen IPA and also Nørrebro's Bombay IPA.