A Day Trip to Volendam

Volendam is a fishing town in the north of Holland, about an hour's drive from Amsterdam. While the village is well-known for its old fishing boats, people visit mainly to see Volendam's inhabitants: here  the traditional Dutch costume (with lacy bonnet and everything!) continues to be worn by residents, mostly the elderly.

 

Despite it being late June, the day we went was cold and blustery: the wind kicked off the sea sending violent sprays of water everywhere (i.e. even with a long-sleeved shirt, a sweater, a jacket, AND a scarf, I was still wet and freezing. Holland, is this really "summer"?!) and forced us to seek entertainment indoors. Luckily, Volendam has fascinating museum called, appropriately enough, Volendam Museum.

  

With only five rooms, the museum itself is small, and definitely won't take more than an hour to walk through without missing anything. Despite its diminutive size, displays are packed with the details of traditional Dutch life. Miniatures like the one above show the tools and equipment necessary for shipbuilding, as well as the typical goings-on of life as it was 150 years ago.

 

My favorite exhibits showed life-sized mannequins in costumes and rooms that weren't merely replications - they were, in fact, saved from homes in the area that were set to be demolished, until the museum rescued these artifacts and heirlooms. For example, this "apple-blossom interior" dates from 1820 and was in use until 1967. The bedstead in the far left corner was painted blue to fight against insects and was meant to fit three children, and what looks like a carpet is actually a sail that was used as a floor covering during the winter months.

  

The photograph above shows the details characteristic of a living room in the 1920s. The furniture includes a glazed cabinet with china and bric-a-brac, a cupboard with images of Roman Catholic saints, and a lampshade with 14,000 beads. Mostly, though, I like the strange waxiness of the models, hands forever posed with cards or in reach of a nearby teapot.

Both town and museum have more than a whiff of nostalgia - they seem imbued with a singular love and delight in the old-fashioned. The atmosphere here is playfully eccentric, and definitely worthy of a few hours' wandering.

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This post was sponsored by Beat the Brochure: a travel company supplying the very best prices in travel services to customers by maintaining excellent and exclusive relationships with suppliers, delivered with the very best service. All thoughts and opinions are, of course, my own.

A Weekend in Haarlem (Or: The Oldest Museum in the World)

 

Travel is so often a lesson in exercising patience. Like right now, for example, I am sitting in a public library in Antwerp, Belgium, perspiring, no, practically panting with sweat and frustration, after a nearly two hour search of the city center for Wifi - which, mind you, came after a 1 hour and 15 minute sweltering bus ride during which an enormous woman with Kool-Aid red hair and multiple ear piercings (who, incidentally, was also wearing a leopard-print jumpsuit with fringe at the ankles) sat screaming into her cell phone for the duration of the trip - just so that I could sit here and watch the better part of an hour drift away as Picasa Web Album fails to upload six, that's right only six, photos of my weekend in Haarlem (which, in case you did a double take, yes, that is spelled correctly because we are talking about the city in the Netherlands and not the northerly neighborhood of Manhattan). 

 

The thing is that I want to write something pleasant, something inspiring, something that will make people jump out of their chairs and run to the nearest travel agency and say something like, "Book me on the next plane out of here, please!" - because, even in their excitement and their haste people will still be ever-so-polite, energized by their recent renewal in decency and faith in mankind, and they will remember to use words like "please" and "thank you" - and they might even make mention of the fact that they saw how lovely Haarlem was right here, on this blog, and they were so thrilled by my perfectly composed and wonderfully edited photos that they couldn't dream of denying themselves, their husbands, their wives, their children and their parents - heck, maybe even their best friend and a colleague or two - the chance to see this beautifully preserved, oh-so-picturesque town.

(Except that it is now 4:03 PM which means that I have been sitting here for over an hour, nearly an hour and a half actually, and still only one photo has uploaded. Attempts to control my breathing, to become calm, Zen-like, these attempts fade into pathetic little sighs with a trill at the end, as if there is a tiny person down deep in the darkness of my guts, and she too is exhausted by this, can no longer manage to signal for help with both arms [S! O! S!], resorting instead to the tinny shrieks of the whistle she wears around her neck for the times such as these.) 

Because someone has to say it, and I've never heard it been said before, that Haarlem is really pretty, so pretty in fact, that it's like Amsterdam's better-looking but less fun sister, the one who everyone wants to say they went to prom with but not actually date for any extended period of time because, you know, she can't really carry on a conversation for more than, maybe, 16 seconds or thereabouts.

But then again, Haarlem is a city and not a person and thus has other things to offer besides beer in red plastic cups and sloppy make out sessions. (Lest you interpret that last line to mean that I think human beings in total are merely creatures that consume and sometimes share beer in hopes of making out, well, that wasn't my intention. I was just trying to follow through on the "prom" metaphor I set up in the previous paragraph, though, you could definitely make the case that the male half of our species, particularly those aged 18-22 and often of the "fraternity" variety, are, simply, creatures that consume and sometimes share beer, especially as a prelude to sloppy making out.) Actually, as you may have gleaned from the photo above, we may or may not have visited a museum during our stay in Haarlem (we did) and it may or may not have been the oldest museum in the entire world (it's not - but it is the oldest museum in the Netherlands). It's called Teylers Museum and they have things such as: paintings, windmills, typewriters, fossils, phonographs, telegraphs, telescopes, ancient technology and newfangled gadgetry. You should go if you have a chance.

WWOOF: The Country Lover's Couchsurfing

Ahoy! (Yes, people in the Netherlands greet each other in this way. They are, if nothing else, a seafaring people. And tolerant - I've heard more than once that the quickest way to make a Dutchman angry is to call him intolerant.)

It's been a while since I've shared a post from my guest blogging series at Spotted By Locals, so I figured that the time had come around again. Plus, I have zero energy to write another post this morning - after two weeks of serious manual labor, my body is just now readjusting to my normal schedule of waking up at 10:30 AM and consuming copious amounts of coffee until about noon, at which time we usually switch to beer. Or wine, you know, for when we're in France - which we're going to be, for Bastille Day. In Paris. Eee!

Here is the first paragraph of the article so as to entice you into clicking the link to read the whole thing, then possibly even "liking" it on Facebook, which, if you're going to be doing that sort of thing anyway, you could also, maybe, "like" this blog on Facebook, but that's so much more than a body - this body, this person, me, I - could ever ask for: 

"It is barely dawn, and I am wearing a pair of blue overalls that might best be described as 'prison chic.' Three fresh blisters painfully announce their presence in my right palm, threatening to become callouses. Clumps of dirt and hay stick to my jumpsuit as I rake acres of grass into piles big enough to be worth bending for. But – the field and sky before me clash in such depth and variety of color, I could easily pretend to be posing for Rembrandt."

Oh, and that link we talked about? Yes, it's here, just below these next couple of lines, and you could click on it or not click on it, it's your choice really, but if I have any sway here, let me suggest that you click on it and enjoy yet another photograph of those most lovely, ever-so-picturesque sheep of Groningen, Netherlands:

WWOOF: The Country Lover's Couchsurfing.

Also, this is apropos of nothing (though I really tend to enjoy non sequiturs and, in general, more "absurdist" humor, which is why I will always prefer the American version of The Office to the British one even though I give Ricky Gervais major props for inventing what is undoubtedly the funniest show in the past decade), the Dutch have this word for the person they love - "mopje" - but that very same word also refers to the mop that you clean the floor with, which, I think, is hilarious in a sad sort of way.

A Day in the Life of a WWOOF Volunteer

6:45 AM: Wake up to Dan standing over you and smiling. He gives you kisses; you scowl and get dressed. Mornings are not your thing.

7:00 AM: Feed the animals. First you go to the chicken coop, where the rooster has been crowing for at least forty-five minutes. He will continue to do so at regular intervals for another thirteen hours, as a reminder that it is, indeed, daytime. Give him fresh water and grain.

7:04 AM: Give the hens and chicks fresh water and grain as well. Squeal: "Hello chickies! Cutie chickies! I love you!"

7:06 AM: Break half a loaf of old bread into small pieces; put the bread into a bucket of water. Give this mixture to the relentlessly squawking geese. They honk - "Intruder! INTRUDER!" - and will continue this display for at least one week, at which point they will stop honking at you and direct their interest instead at empty buckets on the ground.

7:08 AM: Walk to the other side of the barn. Stuff two wheelbarrows' worth of hay into several feeders - two big armfuls for the horses, then separate the rest into the goats' pens. Watch as Wonka the Cow sniffs at the feeder, eyes you disdainfully, then walks away, swishing her tail in distaste. She will wait for the fresh grass you'll be raking shortly, thankyouverymuch.

7:11 AM: Break half a loaf of old bread into a bucket. Mix it with some fresh whey and an old head of lettuce. Give this to Miss Piggy, the barn's resident garbage disposal and recent mother to a single piglet, Dumbo, who has already been fed his bottle by Reneé. Pat her piggy head.

7:15 AM: Eat breakfast. Choose from an assortment of breads, cheeses, jams, and spreads such as peanut butter and cashew butter. Lately you prefer some Speculoos on a Knäckbrot, sprinkled with a bit of Hagelslag. (That would be gingerbread cookie paste spread over a multi-grain cracker, and covered in chocolate sprinkles. Delicious.) Drink the day's first cup of coffee.

7:42 AM: Jump into the car with Reneé and Dan to take the dogs for a walk. Enjoy the early morning quiet, only occasionally interrupted by the dogs as they growl at stray cats, deer, frogs, and a slug or two. Remind yourself to bring your camera on one of these walks, then never remember to for your entire two-week stay.

8:37 AM: Return to the farm. Put the dogs inside the house. Try not to be jealous when they settle back into their beds.

8:45 AM: Bring McLeod and Malaine (a horse and pony, respectively) back from the field where they stay overnight and place them in their daytime pen. Giggle at McLeod, who stands at the fence and watches you, pink tongue hanging goofily from his mouth.

8:52 AM: Major task #1: You and Dan must rake the freshly mowed grass and gather it into two wheelbarrows. Feed the first set to the animals, then leave the second for their afternoon snack. Curse your lack of bicep strength as you watch Dan power though two wheelbarrows in the time it takes you to gather one small pile of grass. Plead with him to rake more grass as you bend and scoop the stray stalks. Notice bits of dirt and manure stuck under your fingernails.

9:16 AM: Having successfully convinced Dan to do most of the raking, bring the second set of wheelbarrows to the entrance of the barn. Attempts to evade Brunotti and Kate Middleton - two mischievous goat sisters who regularly escape their pen - fail. Watch as they stamp most of the grass onto the floor, and then proceed to nibble at your borrowed overalls, or "prison jumpsuits," as Dan calls them. Christen Brunotti as "Bru-naughty," and leave Kate Middleton with the name that suits her. (Bahaha!)

9:23 AM: Bring the other three horses - Cassie, Romke, and Violla - to the field you just raked. Pet Violla's nose as she releases her specialty: incredibly loud and smelly flatulence. 

9:34 AM: Head to the refrigerated cheese room. Major task #2: Turn each cheese round upside down, then apply a preservative plastic coating. Finally understand why cheese rinds taste like Barbie doll feet. Vow to invest in a proper cheese knife and slicer, preferably travel-sized.

9:39 AM: Shiver. Wonder where your thick wool sweater is and why it's not currently on your body.

9:43 AM: Contemplate how much cheese you would eat if you got locked in this room. Create emergency plan.

10:01 AM: Cheese mission complete.

10:02 AM: YAY! It's time to feed Dumbo! You ♥ him; he is precious.

10:17 AM: Walk around the barn for ten minutes, petting every animal that will let you. 

10:27 AM: YAY! Coffee break! Gather mugs, spoons, and cookies for dipping.

11:00 AM: Marvel that you've been awake for four hours and it's not even noon.

11:03 AM: Reluctantly get up from the table and head back to the barn. It's time to clean "the sh*t of the horses." 

11:18 AM: Discuss with Dan the merits of pitchfork vs. shovel with regards to horse dookie. 

11:22 AM: Pitchfork wins.

11:24 AM: Express dismay at the alarmingly chemical smell of horse piss. Frown at Dan when he laughs. Continue to shovel the wet, stinking straw into the tractor "scoop" (real name for this . . . ?) until the pen is finally clean. Sprinkle fresh straw into a nice pile they will piss on later.

12:00 PM: YAY! Lunch time! Enjoy a cheese sandwich and day's third cup of coffee.

12:36 PM: Ask Reneé what else is on the to-do list for today.
12:38 PM: Begin picking berries.
01:17 PM: Quietly sneak away for a poop break.
02:39 PM: Stop picking berries.

02:40 PM: Notice tiny snail crawling out of your berry bucket. Entice him with a dandelion.
02:41 PM: Tiny snail is either afraid of or ignoring the dandelion. Try a leaf instead.
02:42 PM: The snail crawls onto the leaf, triumphantly waving his antennae. You carefully set both snail and leaf under the shade of a nearby tree. Dan comes over, sweating and looking manly, holding his weedwhacker (NOT a double entendre). He asks what you are doing. You show him your new snail friend, "This is my new snail friend." Point your toe and look adorable.
02:54 PM: Reneé comes over and says that's it for the day.
03:00 PM: Go to your room and spend copious amounts of time on Twitter. Shamelessly promote your blog's Facebook page.
03:56 PM: Watch reruns of The X-Files using an illegal proxy server. Feel like a badass.
05:13 PM: Wake up in time to assist Reneé with dinner. Wash potatoes, or whatever. Set the table.
06:05 PM: Eat dinner.
07:02 PM: Ask if anyone wants to play a round of Kostenvaarders.
07:03 PM: Wonder why everyone is laughing at you.

07:05 PM: Find out the game is actually called Kolonisten van Catan, or "Settlers of Catan."
07:06 PM: Ask what "kostenvaarders" means.
07:07 PM: Find out that it is a nonsense word you just made up, but could generously be translated as "Pricey Beards." Consider the possibility of creating "Pricey Beards" - a board game about Brooklyn hipsters.
08:24 PM: Lose Kolonisten van Catan to Reneé. Dan reassures you that "at least you came in second."
08:26 PM: Write this blog post.
10:02 PM: Finish writing this blog post.
10:11 PM: Make squirrel faces at Dan when he says it's time for bed. Dance in front of the mirror naked.
10:22 PM: Beg Dan to come downstairs and keep you company while you brush your teeth, even though he's already showered and laying down. Refuse to answer when he asks how many days in a row has it been since you've bathed.
10:51 PM: Fall asleep, safe in the knowledge that absolutely no one will take this blog post seriously.

Jam Session! (A Recipe)

You could make some jam if you wanted to. You could do it like this:

Step 1: Pick some berries, like the ones in the picture.

Step 2: Make sure there are 1,250 grams of berries, or, you know, whatever kind of fruit you want.

Step 3: Go to the store and buy sugar with pectin. It's pretty easy to find, and generally comes in convenient little sachets. You'll need 500 grams.

Step 4: Put the berries and sugar pectin together in a pot. Heat until boiling, which doesn't take very long (sometimes as little as a minute!).

Step 5: Put the mixture in a VERY CLEAN glass jar. The jar should always be warm, lest you pour steaming hot jam into a cold glass jar that proceeds to break and splatter boiling berries all over your naked feet. Not fun.

Step 6: Put the jar upside down. Leave it alone for a while. You could go to sleep, even. 

Step 7: Wake up; it's morning. Slice some bread and put your delicious jam on it. Yay!

A Mudflat Tour in Groningen

Groningen is a small province in the northern region of The Netherlands, consisting mostly of farmland with a largely rural landscape. There is one major tourist attraction, though, which is walking the mudflats (or, in Dutch, "wadlopen") of the Waddensea. We stopped in this town during our car ride from Boerakker, and saw the sailboats decorated with colorful flags strung from mast to mast. Reneé, our WWOOF host, explained that sailors embellish their vessels to celebrate the beginning of the fishing season.

Sheep are skittish creatures, and will generally flee at any sign of human contact (though, who wouldn't be nervous at the prospect of being captured and shaved completely naked? I know I would be irate at anyone who might clip my bangs off!). A local farmer allows his flock to graze on the fields that surround the mudflats, and a few of the braver sheep allowed me to capture their portraits.

Being from New York City and having had little contact with farm animals other than at petting zoos, it is strangely comforting - natural, even - to see dozens of sheep milling about or resting in the grass. It reminds me of the bucolic image of small town America that now only seems to exist in sad country songs. 

Dan and I had never been to mudflats before, and made the mistake of wearing rubber flip-flops to walk through them (though, in our defense, Reneé failed to mention that our choice of footwear was not the best one!). Within moments, both of us had lost our sandals to the mud, which was so sticky that even Dan couldn't pull his feet out of it with flip-flops intact!

We were able to recover our sandals, though not without becoming thoroughly filthy in the process: with every step I sank deeper into the mud, as though it were a pit of quicksand. By the time we peeled our flip-flops out of the muck, Dan and I were up to our knees in it, and my hands and jeans were absolutely covered in the stuff. It was so unexpected that by the time we reached hard ground again, all of us were practically rolling with laughter. (Do note Brian, another WWOOF volunteer, casually strolling in the background with his infinitely more appropriate footgear of heavy-duty work boots!)

Washing the mud from our legs was not easy, as we had to precariously lean into the water without falling in. Here, Dan finds a grassy bank to perch on as he splashes his feet, while I had the much less dignified position: held by Reneé with one arm as I reached mightily for the stream with the other, displaying my entire 5'2" wingspan - which, sadly, wasn't quite enough to get anything truly clean. You can understand how I cursed my short limbs that day.

After Reneé deemed us clean enough to get back in the car, we walked around the area for a bit longer, drying off and inspecting the natural flora. We found what we believed to be seagulls' eggs, protected in a nest of pebbles, hay, and blown-away sheep's wool. It's hard to tell here, but the spots on the eggs were a lovely blue-gray color that matched the sky that day.

During low tide, it's possible to walk across the mudflats to the islands that lie about 12 miles (approximately 19 kilometers) away from the "beach." The walk takes five hours and requires a lot of physical strength to plod through the mud and water, which can sometimes reach as high as your chest. Though Dan and I were not able to take this walk due to the high tides that day, there are guided tours that leave from the shore regularly. (Attempting the mudflats without a trained guide is extremely dangerous, as the water can come in and wash your souls away in just a few seconds!) A trip to the mudflats is crucial for any extended visit to the Netherlands, especially if you're the outdoorsy type. 

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This post was sponsored by Jetabroad, a global online travel agency focused on selling highly competitive international airfares and travel insurance. 

All thoughts and opinions are, of course, my own.

How To Feed A Piglet

Dumbo is the 1.5 week old piglet of Miss Piggy, the only pig on the De Buurackers farm. He is the sole survivor of six piglets, five of whom died due to complications during birth (the first piglet ruptured Miss Piggy's uterus with his hooves, causing severe damage to the piglets that followed). With only one piglet to nurse, Miss Piggy quickly stopped producing milk, and thus Dumbo (so-named due to his big pink ears) is fed formula from a bottle, four times daily.

As of now, it is believed that Dumbo is blind, though he is an incredibly smart little creature and is something of a Houdini: Reneé, our WWOOF host, had to create a cross-hatch fence system after he escaped from his pen several times, to the great consternation of both his mother, Miss Piggy, and the 24 goats that live in the next stall. All 24 ran like mad to the far corner of their pen, where they cowered in fear from the sweet, curious oinks of the tiny, friendly, heartbreakingly adorable Dumbo.

In this video, I feed him what Tolkien's hobbits might call "elevensies": that snack between breakfast and lunch that occurs at - you guessed it - eleven o'clock.

Oh, and to add to the cuteness: Dumbo will follow underfoot all around the barn, softly oinking until you reach down, scoop him in your arms, and scratch behind his ears. He'll raise his little pig face, and look at you with more trust and more benign consideration than some people do. He is, without question, my favorite animal in the barn and possibly - the world.

WWOOF, An Introduction to Organic Farming

The acronym WWOOF stands for World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms. It's a simple yet brilliant idea that started in England in the 1970s; it's an organization in which people who want to learn about organic farming can search for farmers who practice sustainable ways of living, and assist these farmers in their daily tasks in exchange for food and accommodation, and of course, the knowledge they provide.

Dan and I decided to join in May, thinking that after four months of traveling through the cities of Europe (and especially after the shenanigans of Amsterdam!) it would be lovely to see another side of life, especially in a country as green and pretty as The Netherlands. We were lucky when Reneé and Ton of De Buurackers farm (our first choice) accepted us as volunteers.

Reneé and Ton's farm is not only organic, but biodiverse: while their main business here is manufacturing (absurdly delicious!) goat cheese from their nearly 30 goats, they also have 3 horses, 1 cow, 1 pig and her newborn piglet, about 15 hens and their 20 chicks, 1 rooster, 2 geese, 2 dogs, and 1 cat. Then there are the fruits and vegetables: strawberries, grapes, apples, potatoes, chives, leeks, lettuce, and the grass itself, which is tended to just as carefully as the comestibles. Oh, and they also house and care for their friend's competition horse and pony.

Unlike in the United States, where "organic" is little more than a marketing catchphrase and has little to zero regulation (i.e. a chicken farmer can call his product "organic" if the door to the barn is cracked even slightly open - while his animals are permanently locked in cages stacked one atop the other, piled high in their own feces without any freedom of movement or time out of doors), the rules of organic farming in the Netherlands are clear, down to what the animals are consuming as feed, how much space they have in their pens, and the amount of time they spend grazing in the natural environment.

You might remember from this post how passionate I am about fresh, healthy food and how the American food culture (i.e. the Big Food Corporate Interest) is squarely at odds with this. But, having spent my entire childhood in New York City, I was very far removed from what farm life really consists of and what happens to animals before they become the meat on our plate. (Though, in the words of my favorite philosophy professor, at least I know what I don't know. We have to be willing to educate ourselves, right?)

So, for the next two weeks, join me in the tiny town of Boerakker (population: 450!), where I will wake up at ungodly hours to partake in the chores and duties of a small organic farm. There will undoubtedly be a lot of sh*t-shoveling, but at least there will be cheese afterwards. And maybe, just maybe, I'll be allowed to feed the piglet (be still my heart). Get your overalls on, boys and girls! Woo doggy!

The Amsterdam Flower Market

The Amsterdam Flower Market, or Bloemenmarkt in Dutch, was blissfully uncrowded on the day we went. Sometimes we specifically choose to do touristy things on gray or cloudy days, knowing full well that the vacationers and day-trippers will be off doing things indoors, and we can have the winding streets all to ourselves. We were lucky to arrive at the market fairly early, when there was just a slight drizzle and I could give a sniff to any flower I wanted without being elbowed or shoved aside - you know how pushy those gardeners can be.


(Let me assure you that I kid, lest anyone believe that I actually think gardeners to be a merciless breed. Though I have heard wild rumors about New York City's Orchid Show . . .)

The Bloemenmarkt is currently in its 149th year, having been formed in 1862. The flower stalls are actually boats that float and bob on the Singel canal, between Muntplein and Koningsplein on the south side of city center. Souvenir shops, florists, and a few cafés line the opposite side of the street, including one Christmas-themed store, which I promptly ran into and purchased our first souvenir since February: a tiny pair of wooden clogs, painted yellow, with "Holland" written in script across the front. They were only €2.95, and they were not made in China. They will look beautiful on the Christmas tree that we will have one day, of this I am sure.

Enjoying the scenery from a bench on a nearby canal - and laughing at Dan's consistent inability to frame a photo properly, despite my many attempts to demonstrate. (Also easy to see here why he has nicknamed me "Cheeks," amongst several other loving monikers.)

The sunshine came out later that day, and sparkled beautifully on the water at dusk. But how can I watch the canals when such a handsome fellow is sitting across from me?

Amsterdam: It's In The Details

Now, aside from having friends in multiple countries and across two continents, the thing I love about Couchsurfing is this: the people you meet are always happy to show off their city, sharing the history and architecture of the place, and pointing out bits of information that a visitor might never notice otherwise. Such was the case when Dan and I took a walk with one of our hosts in Amsterdam, Joost (pronounce the J as a Y and you've got it!). Joost gave us a terrific tour of his city, and I will do my absolute best to accurately recall the interesting facts and stories here. 

There are a number of unusual architectural details happening in the buildings pictured here, but did you notice something sort of . . . odd? Namely those beams jutting out from above the top window? Those beams actually have hooks attached at the end of them, and they were used for moving large sacks of foodstuffs into storage houses along the canals. The top window would be completely removed from its frame, and one person would thread a rope through the hook and heave the rest down to be tied around the containers. Then it would be hauled to the top and swung into the window. Nowadays they are still used for moving large pieces of furniture, because the spiraling staircases of Amsterdam apartments are extremely steep and narrow. Not so good when you're coming home after too many Heinekens.

In its early history, the citizens of Amsterdam did not use numbers to identify their houses. This wouldn't come until much later, when it was introduced by the English. Instead, colorful plaques would be fastened above the doorway of each home, signifying the profession of the family that lived there. For example, the neighborhood baker might have an image of bread entering the oven. The building shown here has a hand holding a feathered pen, so this house must have belonged to a scribe of some sort. The second photo shows it in closer detail. It makes me wonder what the house I would have had might feature . . .

In the first photograph here, the hooks and beams used for moving can be seen more clearly against the cloudless skies. But have a look at that lamppost! I thought that Paris was king for lovely illuminations, but Amsterdam has a charm all its own: the peacock blue and gold crowns that sit atop every streetlamp are some of the prettiest I've ever seen. The crown there stands for Amsterdam's coat of arms: two lions clasping a crowned heart, within which appear a vertical stripe of three Xs. The photo below features another version of the city's crest that I found on a building as I unknowingly entered De Wallen, or the Red Light District.

Okay, so this photo has absolutely nothing to do with the history or architecture of Amsterdam, but I have seen an ungodly number of people hanging out of windows here! There is always a face or two peering out from the windows above restaurants or coffee shops, legs dangling akimbo, and a cigarette or other smokeable substance hanging from their lips. When we passed underneath this fellow, I was tempted to grab the nearest fishing line and try to reel him in, such was the nature of his flapping feet.

Amsterdam is an incredible city with a fascinating history, so if I've missed something that you think should be included, let me know in the comments! I would love to keep adding to this post as I learn more about Dutch culture.

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This post was sponsored by Travelmatch. All thoughts and opinions are, of course, my own.

Life Out of a Suitcase Interview

Remember this post, when I told you I was being interviewed by Nithya from Life Out of a Suitcase? Well, it's been published on the site and I'm pretty darn excited about it! Nithya interviewed me about my stay in Aix-en-Provence, France, and I thought her questions were great and totally relevant to women travelers in their twenties and beyond. Have a little look-see: 


• What do you wish you had taken on your trip?
A skirt or two. I’d forgotten that weather in the south of France is warmer (think Mediterranean temperatures), and the gorgeous sunshine had me wishing that I could frolic in a skirt rather than sweat it out in my jeans and cardigans.

• What was the most useless thing you packed?
Jewelry! I bought a silk jewelry roll for $12 in New York City’s Chinatown especially for this trip, thinking I would look ever-so-chic with my bangles and baubles. Instead, I wear the same stud earrings and my engagement ring Every. Single. Day. So silly.

• On average, how much do things cost? The cost of a beer? Bread? A blouse?
Aix-en-Provence is definitely less expensive than some of the larger cities in France (ahem, Paris). When going out at night, I would recommend skipping the beer and cocktails, which can cost about 5€ for a pint and up to 11€ (eek!) for a fancy cocktail. Go for wine instead, which is cheap and delicious in all its varieties here.

If you want to get truly Provençal, then buy a baguette (usually only €0.75) at any of the boulangeries, pick up a bottle of Vin de Pays (about €2.00) from a local Proxi, and make yourself a little picnic! Sit at one of the many fountains and engage in my favorite French sport: people-watching!


If you want to read more of my tips on traveling in beautiful Aix-en-Provence, read the rest of the interview here: Traveler Interview with Jessica Kulick.

Amsterdam at Night

Amsterdam often reminds me of New York City, my hometown. Both cities have an atmosphere and vibrancy all their own, but become so alive at night they seem to hum with their own energy. Dusk is such a particular hour in cities like these, when the streets are momentarily quiet of cars and the neon lights are just starting to blaze.

Nights start later here than in other European cities, I've noticed. Not only in terms of when people really begin to party, but also in the literal sense. Right now, at the very beginning of summer, the sun doesn't even start to set until nearly ten o'clock. 

The Grasshopper is an enormous building that houses a coffee shop (not to be confused with a café!), a bar, and a steakhouse, all on different floors. For me it marks the entrance into the most touristy - and thus most crowded - parts of Amsterdam, so Dan and I usually steer clear. Though, I cannot help but love the pea-soup-green lights that illuminate its tan brick façade. 

Bar hopping is easy by bicycle, and there are usually hundreds of them parked around lampposts and in alleys nearby the popular spots. The particular "Grand Café" pictured here is not one of those, but I couldn't resist the homage to NYC: a well-lighted Statue of Liberty! (And if you're familiar with American history, you'll recall that it was the Dutch who settled Manhattan, and that New York was originally called New Amsterdam.)

This canal scene is less than a ten-minute walk from Amsterdam's Centraal Station (yes, that's two As in "Centraal"), but it feels very far removed from the station's constant shuffle. I never get tired of peeking into the goings-on of the city's houseboats, or of listening to the water clap against the walls of the canals.

It's nice to stand silently during lovely moments such as these, taking in all the little details and snapping a mental photo to carry around with me. It's just completely iconic Amsterdam, isn't it? The shapes and lines of the bicycles, the twinkly colored lights reflecting on the canals . . . but there's something to be said for having the real thing, too, in that I get to share it with you!