I know, I know, I’ve jabbered on about Amsterdam before. Yes, I went to the same place for Pancakes. Again. (Upstairs Pannenkoeken – I don’t even need to google the spelling anymore, I’m basically Dutch) And yes, I drank too much. Again. And I may have taken in some culture while off my tits on herbal cigarettes. Again.
But heck, there’s always something new to discover in the Dam.
Irish and I were skyping a few weeks back and she said she was planning a jolly over to the UK between fabulous acting jobs – only her chosen dates were dates I’d planned to bugger off to the Continent. So, because we are that fucking fabulous, we decided she should skip the London trip and we’d meet in Schiphol instead for a few days in the Dutch capital.
Despite actually only being in town for around forty eight hours, we managed to; hang out at Lally’s place and drink all the wine, get a bit squiffy on space cakes, go the the cinema, drink crazy kinds of gin, hog tables at the skybar, visit a Play Mobile village, make chocolate (almost), eat pie, marvel at windmills, make crazy funky art with a toddler, go to the theatre, drink two magnums of prosecco, eat pancakes, queue two hours for the Anne Frank house, buy a disgusting amount of affordable clothes due to the glorious exchange rate and eat ALL the cheese.
In all seriousness, I’ve been to Amsterdam so much and never made it to the Anne Frank museum. The queue is always hideous (it’s kind of a single file thing…) and I’ve never had enough time, but this time we were determined to do it. It’s a bit morbid and more than a little depressing, but it’s the kind of kick in the gut reality check you need to remind yourself of once in a while.
And when you’re done with all that, if you need a pick me up (you will) where better than the bar with the best name on this fair planet; Wynand Fockink.
Yep. Wynand Fockink. That’s right. Just going to leave that there for a second. Straight after the serious bit. Yep.
I mean, I went for the name, I’m not gonna lie. But I stayed for the gin. I wish I could tell you what I had to give you a recommendation, but I honestly have no idea. It was kind of pink. We handed over our cash, the man said something in Dutch, poured us out a variety of different coloured gins in funky little sipping glasses and the rest is all a bit hazy. But I remember it was GREAT.
Now, the Cinema. By this point, admittedly, we were down a questionable roll up and a great deal of gin. Lally suggested checking out the Pathe Tuschinski cinema (nee theatre), due to it’s awesome art deco old school interior design, gothic exterior and the fact that you can get a ticket, a bucket of popcorn AND WINE for €15.
We watched the Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. I’m not convinced anything actually happened in that film, but it was pretty to space out to even if we didn’t have a clue what was going on. Irish and I had at least seen the first one, Lally didn’t realise it was a sequel until a week later.
By the time Irish and I waved farewell to our fabulous host and staggered back to Schiphol, to our different flights going to different places that just happened to leave within twenty minutes of each other from gates directly beside each other (one part planning, two parts dumb luck) we needed a holiday to get over the holiday, which is generally the way you can tell you’ve had a damn good holiday.
Until next time 😉