New Email Address

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It ain't the cold, it's the humidity

Why isn't that a saying in Holland? This is the only place I have ever been where it can be cold AND humid.

You bundle up to go outside, then sweat inexplicably. When you take off a layer, the wind blows and freezes you until you put your soaking wet layer back on again. Then it fucking rains.

I come from New England, where the weather is notoriously unpredictable, but Holland makes New England look as predictable as, well, rain.

Then there's the hail. Then rain. Then the sky clears so quickly that even the rainbows get confused. They show up and then go, "oh shit, this again?" and disappear.

I had a Swedish friend who used to say "there is no bad weather, just bad clothes," which is true 'round these parts. The problem is knowing WHICH clothes. You always have to be ready to get rained, hailed or sunned on at any second of the day.

Meeting with the Burgermeester

Thanks for the suggestion Sophie - I will try the Burgermeester. I have to hit Elandsgracht this week to have my bakfiets tuned, and they just opened there.

I'll be sure to report back to everyone, as I know you are all holding your breath in anticipation...

Frannie the Tranny

When V was an infant, he was colicky and had skin problems, but the cold weather soothed him like nothing else would. We found ourselves pushing his carriage or carrying him in a sling at all hours of the day and night throughout the winter through the busiest, seediest part of the city.

We lived in the Red Light District, and our late night jaunts brought us past the same colorful characters, night after night, and we got to know some of them pretty well.

I have a lot of good/funny stories about most of these people that we came to be acquainted with. This is one of them...

Francine is a pre-op transsexual (has a penis and boobs) who works a window in the transsexual section of the Red Light. (We secretly call her Frannie the Tranny.) She's always been really sweet to us and the kids, having seen my belly grow with V, and always peeking curiously into his carriage.

(Some of the girls can be really rude, or make gross gestures, so when you have kids around, politeness is appreciated.)

D was out late one night with a couple of Americans, all shitfaced, when someone joked about getting a prostitute for the drunkest friend, whom I'll call Bob.

Being in the neighborhood, D said "I've got the perfect girl for you!" and took him to Francine's window.

Bob got really hostile when he saw her and started making derogatory comments, so everyone just decided to call it a night and go home.

We saw Francine a couple weeks later at AH (see Albert Hate below) and D apologized to her for the behavior of Bob, saying that he hoped she hadn't become upset.

She said, "It's OK honey. Why do you think he was embarrassed?"

Yeah, that's right. He'd already been to her a couple times.

The neighbors are naked again

We have a sneaking suspicion that our neighbors are nudists. The downstairs ones, not the one who was arrested this week.

Every time I knock on their door, it seems that he has just had a "shower" and needs to go put on a robe before greeting me - and I don't knock that often or consistently at the same time.

We first began to suspect this when my partner would smoke on our balcony in the mornings. He would often hear rumblings from the balcony below and look down to see our neighbor - who is 65 if he's a day - smoking outside in all his glory.

I let it go, saying "well, maybe he sleeps naked and wants a smoke first thing in the morning." D said "No, I don't think so."

Neither one of them looks comfortable in clothing, and they are always dressed like they threw something on from their bedroom floor. And she never wears a bra, despite needing one.

They have often told us that they visit Het Twiske on nice days and that "you don't even have to wear a bathing suit." I've noticed that their 10-year-old daughter usually has a dark tan after visiting, and she has bragged to my stepdaughter about being able to run around naked.

Now, I am all for freedom of expression, and adults doing what they want, but I think there is a point that kids need to learn that their public nudity isn't always safe or acceptable. I personally think that the age cutoff for buck-naked beach-going is about 3 for kids. Once they're 18, who cares?

Call me a prude or an American, but I don't want my kids exposed for any creep to see. There is plenty of time for al fresco frolicking and smoking when they get to college. Besides, what if you drop an ash??

I want a burger

I want a burger. Not just any kind of burger, but a seriously disgustingly juicy, rudely gigantic burger with enough bacon, cheese and jalapenos to choke a stable full of horses. A burger so succulent that you have to wipe your mouth after every bite. Mmmmmm.

A restaurant I used to frequent in Rhode Island had that particular burger on the menu. They called it the "Go f*ck yourself burger," since there wasn't a thing about it that was healthy.


You can get those burgers (perhaps minus the jalapenos) in any location you hit with a dart on a map of America. It'll run you about $8.95, if memory serves, and that's in a place where they will bring it to your table on a plate with fries, not wrapped up in paper and thrown in a greasy bag. You can order it rare, medium, well-done, or - my favorite - medium rare. In Holland, the whole concept is rare.

My continuous search for the perfect burger in Holland has led me to believe the following: The Dutch have no fucking clue what a burger should look or taste like.

The closest approximation to the burger I mentioned can be had at one of two places in Amsterdam, but it'll cost you, and you won't get no friggin' jalapenos.

Renaissance cafe at the Renaissance Hotel off Spuistraat. They won't let you specify a temperature, but they won't burn it to a crisp, either. It is seriously good and almost TOO big - but I always manage to cram it in. The damage? 15 euros. What is that in American pesos, I mean, dollars? Around 22 bucks, I'd say.

The next best is at the Tara Irish pub and restaurant where the service is almost non-existent, but at least they have fireplaces. Again, 15 euros.

Do not - I repeat - DO NOT attempt to order a burger that seems reasonably priced at any kind of "brown" cafe or eethuis. You will get a squashed, burned, oddly-spiced meatball that you won't be able to choke down without a bottle of mayonnaise. (Fortunately, there will be mayonnaise on the table for your... wait for it... fries).

The considerable paucity of good burgers may have a plus side - there are less fat asses here. Riding around on the bike looking for burgers is a lot healthier than driving three blocks to the closest Ground Round, 99, Chili's or Applebee's to eat yourself senseless, but man, do I wish I could do that once in awhile!

(You like that word paucity, huh? Always looking for a pocket to squeeze in a good Latin cognate. "Considerable paucity" is an oxymoron. I'm frickin' ON today!)

Busted!

Our neighbor got arrested this week, and not in a normal way, either. The SWAT team came in with shields and rifles and led him out blindfolded, then searched his house. No idea what happened there.

Have you ever noticed that in a situation like this, it's always best to be "the neighbor"? Whenever a serial killer is arrested, they interview "the neighbor." They always say the same thing, but the point is - the neighbor never gets killed.

What it says about the neighborHOOD is something else, though...