Amsterdam - First Thoughts

Well, this time last night (12.40am), we were sitting in a bar listening to an Aruban jazz guitarist, an American bass player, a Dutch drummer and an English keyboard player. None of us knew what they were going to play and neither did they: it just kind of evolved.If you ever go to Amsterdam and like music then the Waterhole at Leidseplein is as good a place as any. We spent many happy hours there and watched many, many different musicians with sometimes as many as 20 different personnel changes in an evening. Emerging from the bar at 2 or 3am, there were still hundreds of people sitting around in, and outside, the bars, enjoying the atmosphere and generally having a good time.

Amsterdam is a wonderful city. Forget the image of the red-light district: this is a small part of a city full of beauty, vibrance, tranquility and, above all, a real feeling of cosmopolitan acceptance of anyone and everything. It's also a very small city, and 5 minutes walk can see you move from a small cafe, in a pretty, tree-lined avenue alongside a canal, into the tawdry streets around Damstraat with their tacky souvenir shops, sex boutiques, strip joints and crowds.

As you can probably figure, I like Amsterdam. I wasn't over-enamoured with the arriving and departing however. On arrival, either Gatwick or Schipol baggage handlers had decided to do a suitcase-destruction test: guess whose suitcase they chose?! This was after the assisted passage request for Mrs B turned from the luxury of a golfcart trip straight to the aircraft at Gatwick, to a harassed woman at Schipol shoving a wheelchair at us and wandering off again. Of course, I had to walk what seemed like several kilometres in order to sort out the busted case and made the mistake of trying to take a short-cut. Three heavily-armed police approached and I explained that I was trying to save my legs. They were less than impressed and intimated that I might lose them altogether unless I went the correct way!

On the way home, we had excess baggage of 7 kilos and the check-in clerk (after explaining that there were no wheelchairs available) suggested we could remove some and take it on board as cabin baggage. I explained that I had deliberately packed everything in order to keep my hands free to help Mrs B and questioned how I could take some on board as cabin baggage as I had no bag in which to place anything? I also venured to suggest that if I was allowed it as cabin baggage then where did the word "excess" come into it? The delightful Debby at check-in is obviously the only female impervious to my charms and I duly paid €63. The journey to the EasyJet biplane was long and difficult as L's arthritis was really not good but we finally arrived on the plane and settled back thinking of good old Blighty and a nice cup of tea.

After landing, all was well and my son had even got the right day to collect us. It was then that I noticed that the other case was now missing it's lock and some of the contents. The apartment is still strewn with dirty clothes and the assorted purchases of the week but it seems that they have only got away with some cigarettes.

We sort of spent a bit more than we expected (well, actually, a hell of a lot more) so it's hard to remember what should be there. The fountain pens, inks etc for Mrs B. are all OK as are all my banknotes so hopefully life is now back on an even keel. Talking of banknotes, I am now the proud owner of a 1986 250 guilder note which I have long lusted after - a mere snip at €230!

There's a lot to tell and I've been very good and kept a journal of it all. Whether I blog it all, I haven't yet made up my mind but it's late now and time for a bit of shut-eye. Sweet dreams of pannekoeken, slagroom and strong Dutch coffee and then tomorrow, back to the real world.

Thank you Amsterdam: and to the caring people of Gatwick Handling and EasyJet - a different phrase altogether!