I woke up early the next day, about 6:00 AM. Early for me, anyway. As a self-employed indexer I woke up when I wanted to wake up and I worked when I wanted to work. That’s the beauty of being one’s own boss. The downside to indexing is that it’s a lonely job. My only interactions with publishers and authors came through emails and an occasional phone call. The upside is that there are no office politics and I can work abroad. There is a certain satisfaction that comes with that. Many times I have thought, “I have the best fucking job.”
I wandered through the neighborhood, bathing in the early morning light. The weather was remarkably friendly for November. A jacket provided plenty of protection against the cool air. At the end of my block was a north-south bridge spanning the canal my apartment overlooked. I noticed there was a café next to the bridge. I didn’t give it much thought at the time as I wasn’t yet hungry but I imagined I’d eventually check it out since it was the closest eatery in my neighborhood. My neighborhood. I liked the sound of that.
I crossed the bridge heading south, passing the Artis Zoo on my left and the Jewish Historical Museum on my right. I decided to get to know the neighborhood through experience rather than by map. I wanted to taste the city, to feel it on my skin, to be surprised and dazzled. I didn’t give a damn if I got lost. Hell, I hoped to get lost in Never-Never Land and have fun feeling my way through the maze. The best way to get to know a city is by walking it blindfolded. Nothing yells “I’m a tourist and I have a checklist of sights to see” more than a map.
I walked up to a major street with a tramline running through the middle of it. I looked to my left and saw the long wall of the Artis Zoo on the north side of the street. On the south side were houses and buildings of a more recent vintage, probably only a hundred years old. To my right on the south side were some older buildings, perhaps a couple or three centuries older. I couldn’t make out what was on the north side very well from my vantage point. I crossed the street and noticed a round neon sign. It was not lit up, but through the window the interior suggested it was a brown café.
I walked into the establishment and there were a number of young, middle-aged, and elderly men and women at the bar—mostly men. Behind the bar was a handsome young man with closely cut short brown hair. The bar, just to the left of me as I entered, had a fat curly-Q shape at the end. There were seats available there. I looked over to my right and saw a couple of tables next to the large window looking out on the street. Against the far wall were more tables and everywhere on every wall were framed pictures, drawings, and newspapers. The walls were, naturally, brown. The ceiling was incredibly high but I barely looked up at it. It was brown, I could tell that much. There was also a pool table in the back-center of the room.
As I sat down on one of the curly Q stools, the bartender came to me and asked, in Dutch, what I wanted. I knew very little Dutch but I assumed he was asking me what I wanted because, well, that’s what bartenders and waiters do. I knew enough Dutch to remember “uitsmijter,” a fried egg on top of toast with the option of other toppings as well, from cheese to tomato to mushrooms and so on. I wanted it with ham and cheese so I said, “uitsmijter mit ham and kaas,” and then added, “un espresso.” The young man nodded, turned and walked toward a little cubbyhole at the end of the bar. I could barely see into it but it was the kitchen and its floor was quite a bit lower than the floor of the bar. The young man called out an order and a man about the same age with incredibly long red hair pulled into a pony tail stuck his head out and said “Ja.”
I looked around at the folks drinking their coffees and espressos until I noticed the man sitting opposite me on the other side of the curly Q. He was drinking a beer from a glass labeled “de Koninck.” I was taken aback as it was not yet 9:00 AM. But, hey, to each their own. He noticed me looking and said something in Dutch. I responded with a shrug and said in English, “I’m sorry, I know very little Dutch.” He said, “Ah, an American. You’re sorry about this, are you? It’s nice of you to compliment the Dutch for knowing how to speak Dutch, but it’s really not necessary.” I laughed. The man introduced himself as Peter and I told him my name was Michael.
“So, a Yank in Amsterdam. You get a little lost? The Rijksmuseum is that-a-way!”
Peter made an exaggerated gesture and I smirked. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Not a tourist, Peter. I’ve got an apartment in the neighborhood.”
Peter sat up straighter in his chair and stuck his nose into the air, “Oh, so you’re important! Well, good that we cleared that up.”
I stared at the guy without much thought rolling around in my head. Finally one popped up: “Who the fuck is this asshole and why is he hassling me this damn early in the morning?”
The young bartender came back with my espresso and introduced himself as Kasper. He said, “Don’t mind Peter. He’s like this with everyone. There’s a reason they’re all sitting at the other end of the bar.” The others at the bar chuckled and laughed.
Peter shot back, “Of course I’m like this with everyone. It’s called ‘consistency.’ If I was any other way I wouldn’t be me.”
Kasper fired in return, “Consistency is overrated.”
“Only by you.”
Kasper turned to the other end of the bar and asked, “Can I get a show of hands?” Every hand went up and more laughs came out.
Peter finished off his beer and looked at me. “What did Nietzsche say about the herd?”
I said, “What, you fashion yourself the übermensch?”
Peter shook his head. “You’re American and you know Nietzsche? Will wonders never cease.”
Kasper had gone back to the taps and brought another beer for Peter. Kasper stepped another foot up and blocked Peter from being able to see me. “Michael, if you keep talking with him you’ll get trapped here all day.”
I laughed and said, “I could think of worse fates.”
Kasper asked me what I did in Amsterdam.
“I'm renting an apartment for the next month or so. As long as I have my laptop and an Internet connection I can work anywhere. I needed to get away and I’ve always loved Amsterdam.”
“You’ve lived here in the past?”
I said, “No, just short stays in hotels, never longer than two weeks. I’ve been here, let’s see, on four other trips. Amsterdam is my favorite European city. Check that—it’s my favorite city in the world.”
Kasper raised his eyebrows, “Wow, high praise. You’ve traveled a lot?”
“A fair amount. I’ve covered most of Western Europe, been all over the U.S., visited the Caribbean, Mexico, and Canada.”
“Yeah, you’ve traveled. I’d like to visit the U.S. some day. Mostly traveled in Europe.”
I smiled and said, “I’ll trade with you; you can travel all over the U.S. and I’ll travel all over Europe.”
Kasper laughed. “Sounds good. I wanted to ask you, though, why you decided to rent an apartment in The Plantage? It’s outside the city center and the canal district. There are more attractions elsewhere.”
I nodded and thought of how I would describe my decision making process. “Well … there weren’t a hell of a lot of options given that I was coming from outside the EU. I had to go through a rental agency. I scoured the Internet looking for the right apartment. I really wanted an apartment overlooking the Prinsengracht, to be honest, but I only found one available. The cost?” I paused for effect, “10,000 Euros for a month.”
I heard Peter whistle as Kasper said, “Wow. That's ridiculous, even for Amsterdam.”
“Even the place I rented here is steep. It’s because the rental agencies charge so much for ‘finder’s fees.’ It isn’t this way in the U.S. at all. It’s a bit of a racket.”
Peter chimed, “You bet it is. The Dutch government knows how to set up business to milk visitors. No question. Oh, and thank you for helping bankroll my government-subsidized retirement account with your hard-earned American dollars.”
I said to Peter, who was leaning over to see past Kasper, “I was thinking of you when I made my reservation.” I turned my attention back to Kasper. “That was one of the cheapest rents that I could find without having a roommate. I thought about going with a roommate, but I really wanted space for me to do my own thing. I knew nothing about the Plantage, though. I looked it up online and at first I was disappointed. I almost decided not to rent the apartment. But I saw that it was adjacent to the Oude Zijde so I figured it might just be like the east side’s version of the Jordaan.”
Kasper said, “Totally different feel than the Jordaan.”
“Yeah, I noticed. I like it, though. I dig my apartment and it's an easy walk to the Oude Zijde and not too far from the eastern canal ring. There aren’t any tourists here, really. Hardly any hotels. I suppose the zoo attracts a number of tourists in the warm weather months, but probably just Dutch families and tourists.”
Kasper nodded his head. “Yeah, that’s about right. Hold on, your breakfast is up.”
As Kasper walked down to get my breakfast, Peter launched in again. “So you came to a quiet neighborhood to throw your money away. Good for you. Most Americans go to noisy neighborhoods to throw their money away.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I like to buck the trends.”
Kasper came back with my plate. I asked Kasper if I could get an Americano and some water as well. I started eating and he brought my drinks. Kasper tended to the patrons at the other end of the bar. Peter pulled out a pack of Galoushes and lit a cigarette. I said to him, “That’s something you couldn’t do in the United States.”
“What’s that?”
“Smoke inside a café.”
Peter threw up his hands, “Oh, but you're wrong. Starting in January there’s no more smoking in cafés. In Amsterdam! It’s absurd.”
As I continued eating, Kasper and the regulars in the bar, including Peter, went back and forth about the upcoming smoking ordinance. "Will people even go to the cafés to drink and eat any more? Of course they will, they’ll just go outside to smoke. In January?! I don’t see it. You watch, people will adapt." On and on they went, although they switched back and forth between English and Dutch. I enjoyed listening while savoring my uitsmijter and drinking coffee. I realized this was going to become my morning hangout. There wasn’t a question in my mind.
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