Amsterrrrrdam – yippie!!

In case you don’t know why the yippie, there is no real reason for you to be reading this blog. One of the most “open” places in the world, in my own words, Amsterdam is a place where you’d go either for flowers, or for flower-pots. For people who don’t get the joke, this is the end of the blog for you, sorry. For people who do, hey, at least appreciate the creativity involved :-), and, read on.

Okay, so here we go. But the description of this weekend trip actually remains incomplete without a discussion of the preceding week. Yes, this time we were overly cautious, and did not want to take any chance, so we had booked the tickets last weekend itself. And since we had these two weeks of plan failure, a lot of data had been collected about Amsterdam from various sources. But those are mundane details. What happened to me that was an event that happened only once in all of three months, and it was like a load off of head (literally). No, silly, this is not what you are thinking. I m talking of a haircut, or a friseur, as the Germans would prefer it.

Well, Teja had got a haircut sometime in the last month, and my hair by this time had grown out of all bonds. Mudit was a sufferer as I, and the thought of shelling 8 euros was as bleeding to the heart as any, and the idiosyncratic iitians that we were, we decided that, come what may, we were not dishing 8 euros. And eventually we got it done for, yes, you get it right, 7 euros!! He, he. Well, actually the story is not so tragic. Mudit was told in his office by some Indians (obviously!) of a place where you could get a haircut done for 5 euros. All the efforts of tracing this El Dorado had failed after encompassing the entire last week (!!!), so there was nothing that we could do, but atleast we got even with Teja, and you won’t believe how happy we were at saving that extra euro (which, btw, most probably went down in a muffin). But that is not the entire story. It turns out that the friseur was not anglicized enough to force a communication, and apparently a “normaaaaal” for germans is the length of a hair atleast a couple of centimeters less than it is for us. As you might have rightly guessed, it took some effort not to shout at him after I was shown the mirror after the brilliant hairdo (this I could obtain from his face, which was beaming at his artwork). Out we came, sheepish, and trying to hide our faces, and well, no one stared (as the haircut was “normaaaaal”), but teja and Domnic both had a hearty laugh, and the cap that I had bought at Tollwood the last weekend, found an early use.

So much for the sad story of my brain husk. Anyway, so we had the tickets, left Munich at 7 in the evening of Friday, and the long journey (the bus took us on a specially long trip, through Luxembourg, and Belgium) did not seem so long, as Mudit brought cards with him, we played “minimum”, the game I usually suck at, until the time when an elderly couple was fed up, and asked us if we could go to sleep.

Right so, it was around 9am on a bright, and definitely cold, Saturday morning, when we decided to break our journey, and get down at Hague itself (Rotterdam was also on the agenda, but we figured we wouldn’t have the time). Once we got down, we knew exactly where we had to go, and so we took a tram, and our stop was Madurodam. This place is actually an exhibition, and is famous because you can find miniature Holland here (oh, btw, the Dutch don’t call themselves Holland, they prefer Netherlands), that is, almost all of Holland’s important buildings and landmarks on a scaled down form. There were beautiful churches, actually running toy trains, moving steamers, a football ground, the airport, some of the major industrial buildings and more, and everything a scaled down version of the original. We did not appreciate how good a scaling it was, until we actually saw some of those buildings. In fact, this was also one of the better parts of the three month period, one which I really liked. And the best part was, the place was not static, with small trains moving, and actually stopping at stations (!!), bridges lifting to make way for ships and steamers, and small airplanes moving on the runway. We were also lucky enough to glance into an exhibition hall there itself, where the world press photography competition for 2004 was on. As can be expected, the photographs were brilliant, some grotesquely so, some aesthetically so, but none of them that you could actually move on without taking a look, and reading the details. It was lunchtime by the time we got off there, and next moved on to Scheveningen, the atlantic beach. Needless to say, a most amazing 45 minutes spent, with a strong wind blowing, not many people around so that you could feel yourself closer to nature than ever (except for those two clowns with me who continuously reminded me of the idiosyncrasies of this world), and besides, I had never seen as big an ocean, and as big waves before. We munched on chips, not really speaking a lot, but drinking the scene, caught a few snaps, and reluctantly decided to move on, as our main target for the weekend was not yet reached. So we left the place, came to the station, and with the remaining 20 minutes that we had (for the next train to Amsterdam), futilely searched for the International Court of Justice. Since we did not enough time, we decided to call it off, grabbed pizzas before embarking on the one hour journey to Amsterdam.

This one hour trip was again, like no other before, because Holland is a country which has an amazingly beautiful countryside, more idyllic than any you will ever see. And with windmills all along the way, well, one can’t ask for more. But there is something more brilliant than any of the above, in its own wake. This is the magnificent architecture of these people, mostly glass I would say, but rivaling La Defense (Paris) in its beauty. And while we are on this topic, let me also tell u that I specially liked the way these people used fly-overs, with 4 or 5 at a place, wherever possible. In every respect, so different from their German neighbours, who, I felt, value utility more than aesthetics (in fact, now that I think of this, it also applies to German girlsJ). Also, more importantly for us, almost every Dutch speaks English, quite a novelty in the rest of Europe.

Anyway, it was close to 2 when we reached Amsterdam. The first sight (which, btw, we were quite used to seeing everywhere), was the usual commotion at the station, and difficulty in finding ur way out. Once we were out, the first place where we went to, was the youth hostel where we had booked for the weekend, and after announcing ourselves (not quite literally), the first place we decided to move on to, was the Heineken brewery. Yes, Heineken is indigenously Dutch, and the tour comprised of three complimentary drinks, and a gift (a Heineken glass). What I could not have foreseen, was that these two muggings with me would drink them all in biers.

The fun started when we had come out, and with two drunken persons to control (in case u r confused, I had TWO biers, and one coke, fearing a similar condition, for which, btw, I was chaffed as being “fattu” and “darpok”), u can’t imagine the great time that I was having! But somehow, some time, and a few snaps later, both sobered themselves up (or so I believe, because their antics had considerably reduced), and our next halt was the Anne Frank House. The world famous building was a little bit of a letdown for me, which by no means implies that it was not good, but one good part was the show at the end of the tour. Since it was late, we decided to grab a bite at KFC, and then went on to the International Sex Museum. Pretty weird place, I must say, but I guess as can only be expected.

Now was the big time. It was close to 10, and we had to give up our coyness, if at all we were to find out where the world famous “red-lite area” of Amsterdam was located. It was left to me to be the bad boy (the other two still, or pretending to be, drunk), which I so promptly did, partly even frustrated at their tomfoolery. I was replied in fashion as if nothing was taboo, and such queries were normal place, especially by tourists. As we also came to know, prostitution and drugs are legal in Amsterdam, and in fact, promoted by the tourism department (!!). Moreover, it was a more unsafe city than any we had known so far. And if u have been reading till now, u know where the “open”-ness comes from. So off we went, mainly out of curiosity as to what a red-lite area “looks” like, more than with any mal-intentions (I swear). Man! That was some 2 hrs that we spent.

U see, all my excursions had their share of new experiences, and although there were few which were altogether new, there was none from which I could map onto my experiences before Europe, however novel. Now, there is no way that the two hours at Madurodam can compare to the two hours in the red-lite area, but both were unique in their own capacities.

So then, here we were, in the famed red-lite area of Amsterdam, about which we could have only imagined a year ago. Teja was more senti than any of us, but that hardly mattered. Bored looking prostitutes, coming in all shapes and sizes, all colours, all ages, and covering the entire spectrum from being despicable to utterly hot, beckoned behind the glass windows of their red-lit cubicles (that is also where the word “red” comes to be associated), to every passerby who was interested. As I already said, our peeking into each window was more out of curiosity than out of interest, and we were more than happy with a few “peep-ins”. Quite some time spent there, and when we were done once, we went into all the nooks and corners that we had previously unexplored. Our curiosity (and only that) thoroughly satisfied, we decided to take off. So, we came back to the Dam Square, Amsterdam’s city centre, and spent some wonderful moments in the chilly night, amidst few people loitering around.

The next morning began later than what we had expected, and with those two monkeys still not out of a hangover, there was little I could do even after getting early. Anyway, we were ready, and our first stop, as planned was Madame Tussaud’s. Yes, the famous wax museum chain, of which there are only 5 in the world, and just one in Asia. And I must tell u, wax sculptures of the highest class, closer to reality in every shard of the face than any ever created. Quite some time, and few memorable snaps later, we were out. A trip of Amsterdam can by no means be complete without a canal ride, and we did just that. Well, I m forgetting the details, but it was fun, and quite informative too. We were also shown the Amsterdam harbour, and u could distinctly see the difference between the waters present there, and the waters of the canals. Having completed the trip, and with less than 6 hrs in hand, we took a quick brunch, and got into an argument as to where should we spend the remaining time. Both of them wanted to see the famed flower auction hall, and me, the open country museum, which was more country than museum with the windmills that I have always read about in the books but never seen them, even while in Holland (the ones that u see these days are the modern ones. The ones that I m talking of are the traditional ones), although I was not averse to the idea of flower hall. But, as it turned out at the enquiry, the flower hall closes at 10 in the morning, and so all we had was one option left.

The proverbial icing on the cake can’t taste sweeter than this. This small place is called Zaanse Schaans, and it is something like 40 minutes from Amsterdam. When we got off there, there was already a little bit of rain in the air, which essentially means those wonderful moments before a downpour, when there are clouds, no sun, and a sweet, cool wind blowing. That was the time we set off for Z.S. from the station. Needless to say, everything was quiet, and no people were to be seen around all the way to ZS, something that we had gone accustomed to by now. The scene that greeted us was more superb than I could possibly put down, and the sight of four huge 16th century windmills at a distance was more overwhelming than I could say. If this is any indicator, of all my 700 photos from the trip, the best overall collection is from the Holland trip.

A little description is warranted, even if it is just for me. U know, this was the kind of countryside, with windmills that I had always imagined, and the place that comes closest to bliss than any I saw all this time. No vehicles, no sound of industries, just simple plain countryside, meandering streams watering the small farm-like plots (mind u, this was a museum, and so making it all look so natural is not easy), and with the beautiful weather, the place was as if in a stupour, and we tried hard, but I can tell u that drinking it all in was not easy.

Thoroughly satisfied with the entire weekend, we dragged back to Amsterdam, and caught a bite at KFC again, which was going to suffice for the night. Our bus left promptly at 6, and all I could do was wish I had a little more time to spend at each of the places than I did. The bus was pretty full when we were returning, and I chatted for some time with a Pakistani kid living in England, who got in at Brussels, and got off at Stuttgart. We reached Munich right on time around 8:30, and went for a quick fresh up at home before leaving for the office.

The planning backfires

Resumption over a month after returning doesn’t seem the brightest of ideas, especially right in the middle of the exams, but then, if I don’t do it now, I would probably never do it again, and all bright ideas of putting these 3 months down on paper (!!) would go right out of the window. Already I don’t think I recall every little aspect of those weekend-outs, but let’s fill in before it goes out completely.

So, back we were, after Paris, a romantic, enjoyable, truly wonderful weekend. We landed in Munich early one Tuesday morning, and the week jogged on. I don’t even remember the finer aspect of the weekdays, now that so much time has passed on since then. I do remember that this was the first weekend wherein we planned to include Mudit in our schemes and weekend-outs, and we decided to travel east and north to Amsterdam for the weekend. Teja never seemed in a very bright mood for the weekend, but now that we were two, we didn’t really care.

Owe it to our brilliant foresight, but we really found no reason to book the tickets well in advance, the slug heads that we were, also counting on the fact that not many people would be traveling around the places. So, it came more as a surprise than recognition of the fact that we were indeed, lazy, when that particular Thursday evening, we didn’t get the tickets for Amsterdam. Now, this was the first time that the planning had backfired due a reason as stupid as this, and we did not have any back-up plans for the weekend. “too bad!” we thought, but then, Mudit had the idea. He hadn’t been to Salzburg, and well, I had been, but then, the last time that I was there, we did not see “the” things that Salzburg boasted of – the salt mines and the ice caves. Teja was in no mood to spoil his Saturday morning sleep, so he didn’t come with us.

So we left Saturday morning, quite early, not that I remember when, but I do remember distinctly that just like every weekend, we were huffing and puffing and running hard to get to our platform, so that we don’t miss the train! It was a 2 hr journey, just as it was on the previous occasion, only that we were more boisterous this time around, and people around us had to remind us how pleasant silence could be. From Salzburg, off we went to Hallen, some 30 mins away, and the actual spot for the salt mines. There we saw a celtic village, with life like wax sculptures, and sounds. At the allotted time, we lined up to go in, complete in our salt-miners’ uniforms. We also ran into 3 IITB guys from Switzerland. Beautiful sights of salt in the most natural form awaited us, as we went 200 feet or so below the ground. While crossing an international border 200 feet below the surface wasn’t exactly a different experience, but we made sure we got a snap of that too, to boast on later. Our guide not only took us through different stages of salt formation, extraction et al, but also through the entire history of salt-mining in this area, and that was when we began to appreciate why the salt mines of Salzburg attracted tourists from round the world. By the time we got out of there, it was close to noon, and we rushed through as fast as we could, thinking that making it to the ice-caves could be touch and go now.

Reaching ice caves was not the straightest of the roads that we took, but definitely one with the best sights around me I have ever seen. Alpine pleasures and breathtaking views was all that kept on reminding us of the great time that we were having. It took quite some time to rise the 1500 m or so to get to the mouth of the ice-caves. Thankfully, we had warm clothes on to counter the 0-celsius temperature inside the caves. Although photos were not allowed inside, but we managed to sneak quite a few :-). The most amazing sights were all along the 1-km route that we took, barely 3% of the entire distance that these caves spanned. Needless to say, by the time we came out, we had realized that this day was filled with one of the most amazing sightings, I have ever, ever seen.

But the icing on the cake was yet to come. The time was close to 5, and myself and Mudit were waiting at the Werfen station, when all of a sudden we realized that we were infact alone, for as far as the eyes could see. Just the two neat, clean station platforms, alps to the front, alps behind us, and our train approaching from quite some distance. Easily, one of the most romantic and peaceful ambience one can ever hope to get. So we just sat there for the few minutes we had before the train chugged in, sinking in all the details. Not that the few mins we had to ourselves was a lot, but if ever I would want a peaceful surrounding, I would wish to go back to that late summer afternoon in Austria.

By the time we were back in Munich, it was already late, and the plans for Floh Market were aborted. So we went to Olympia Park, my favorite part of the city, climbed the Olympia turm and saw what a breathtaking city Munich was, at night, came down and spend the rest of time it in the nearby Tollwood festival. By the time we were done, and exhausted, it was pretty late, and so we careened off to our homes.

Sunday was no big deal either, and with no energies to get up earlier, all plans were given up. Tanja, Domnic’s girlfriend had come over for the weekend, and was interested to know about where I had spent my Saturday. So lots of explanations, and exaggerated descriptions followed, and I m pretty sure I made her want to see that place (wasn’t she giggling to Domnic about it, he he). Anyway, so I left home around 11 or so, went to Mudit’s place, roamed around the city, no big deal. Then we went to the Chinese Turm, the place Teja had so talked about, and the largest bier garden in Munich. 500 ml and a few snaps later, savouring the weekend crowd, enjoying its day in the sun(literally), we went to the much publicized FKK (nude beach) along the Isar. Spending some time there did not exactly satisfy my description of Eden, but it was a nude beach alright. Shrugging off awkward glances (we were the only ones clothed!) we decided to move on after it had started to rain a little, just as it usually does in Europe, without any warning whatsoever. We left that place, and walked around a little more, until it got late, and then Mudit came over to our place, we had something to eat, while Mudit and Teja introduced themselves (and I guess, also hit off pretty well). That was pretty much the weekend. Nothing great about it, but well, that is pretty much what it was.

Well u would say this should have been a lesson, not doing the work when you are supposed to, and so this time we decided to book the tickets three days in advance (yes, Amsterdam was still high on our agenda, especially after hearing reports from other people). But luck of all lucks! This time, again, we did not get tickets for Sunday night return!! Another weekend in sight – and another weekend about to be ruined! Again, we were without any plans. The week passed on, and so did the fleeting plans of making a weekend out to Switzerland, rejected people that we were at the hands of the Swiss Embassy (yeooow! That ugly fat mustachioed menace!!). Except that this time we knew that the weekend was all but ruined, and dedicated to Munich. What we also learned that the weekend was the wrapping up of TUM’s cul-fest. Expecting it to be of the same caliber as Antaragni (he he he), we decided to give it a try. So the evening of Friday was spent near Konigplatz, where a local band was playing (yuck! It sucked, and with the rains on, we were in for a wonderful weekend). Not much to do, and the skies not holding a great promise, we decided to call it a day, and back in our cottages.

The next day being Saturday, myself and Mudit decided to give FlohMarkt a try. Teja was still not in a mood to spoil another weekend by getting up early, so he backed out. Now, these flohmarkts are basically European versions of our own Flea Markets, with people selling stuff from their home, and probably the best place to hunt for souvenirs. Not very worthwhile, as we found out, except that some of the stuff was damned cheap (not that we needed it anyway). In the process we also met a few interesting characters. As we were walking off from one flohmarkt to another, we ran into Teja, who kept us company from then on. Since cooking on weekends was not our mantra (what with that wonderful first ever weekend in Munich still afresh, and the smell of the burned rice still vivid), a kebab at Ostbahnhof was the order of the day. Not having much to do, except the same area around Marienplatz, where a real good holiday crowd gathers if it is sunny and a weekend, we decided to make a visit to Kunst Park Ost, after about one and a half months of the first trip, but the difference this time was, that we were not allowed entry into not one or two, but six discos!! Being the egotistical iitians that we were, we snobbed it, and decided not to make an appearance there again. Probably it is not even worth it, we consoled ourselves. Not having any other plan meant we trudged off to our homes (wow! I like the sound of the word ‘home’) and spent the rest of the evening listening to music on our radio, which, by the way, did not fail in reminding us of the discos where we were snubbed :-(

Sunday was too difficult to spend it all at home. And with Domnic not around, it meant a real boring time. Well, this was a heuristic based on past experience, and we decided we would rather go out that putrefy at home. So, off we took for Passau, a small town about 90 minutes from Munich. Well, there is nothing at all to tell about this place, except that it is a toned down version of our own Allahabad, being the confluence of three rivers (Don’t ask me the names though). The only interesting thing was when Teja forgot his coat (with his passport conveniently in it) at the pizzeria, and remembered it just when we were about to set off. So, we ran back, and thankfully got his coat, but with the next train an hr later, we killed our time at a local McDs. Returning back, we boated in the Starnberger See (nothing very exceptional about it, the only reason I think Domnic liked it was because he was with Tanja – which, by the way, automatically implies that it is a nice place to spend your time in if you have a girlfriend). The next few hours were probably the more interesting part of the weekend, when we ran into an IITD professor (yes!!), and we were in full (iitian style) flow. You can imagine how embarrassed we were, especially Mudit. And if that was not enough, we ran into a Hindi learning German girl at Tollwood!! I guess it was all a design to remind us to be careful in public, irrespective of the country we are in.

That was the sad story of two (wasted?) weekends. We were fast running out of time, and on this occasion, come what may, we were prepared.