Another Birthday in Amsterdam and A Visit to The Keukenhof

For the second leg of our trifceta of traveling weekends, we returned to Amsterdam for Julie's thirtieth birthday weekend - apparently we always celebrate birthdays in Amsterdam.  We were fortunate enough to have booked our apartment rental in advance because the city was flooded with tourists for the blooming tulip fields.  Friday was Julie's actual birthdate, thus we brought in the proverbial "Dirty Thirty" in a more literal fashion - meandering through the filthy streets and alleys of the Red Light District.  There is a limited amount of time we could explore until the novelty is outweighed by depravity.   For us, we ventured around the Dam District for a half hour, but we settled in a centrally located bar/arcade - an area primed for people watching.  Oddly enough, the "Hangover Information Center" was opposite our window seat, adjacent to a traditional brothel window - an interesting and comical juxtaposition.  Later, we returned to our apartment to enjoy the view overlooking a canal with glistening street lights reflecting off the calming water.

Hangover Information Center and Prostitute Windows

When we visited Amsterdam last summer, I was in the waning stages of my involuntary Salmonella Diet - severely limiting my gastronomic options to the blandest cuisines.  We started our morning the same way we began our last visit, grabbing breakfast at Bakers and Roasters - a most delicious affair, especially since I wasn't limited to toast.  After our meal, we made our way to the Van Gogh Museum, sped past the ridiculous line and waltzed right inside.  Privilege rewards the prepared, always buy your tickets ahead of time, this way, there is no hassle of waiting in line.  Our self-guided tour was ameliorated with the help of an audio guide which proved useful - explaining some of the many nuances we could have easily overlooked.  By the time we finished the exhibit, the museum was holding an Art Class, free of cost to patrons.

Time to paint

Van Gogh's palette (before I was informed of no pictures)

Pretty sunflowers

Not having a plan to bridge the gap to our afternoon activity - this was the perfect opportunity to avoid the dreary weather.  Julie painted a pretty picture of sunflowers while my lack of artistic ability was prominently displayed.  Two hours were spent on my mess of a canvas; I was way in over my head and probably should have painted something more simple - like a smiley face.  The employee/teacher made her best effort to remain positive with her critiques, but ultimately, she painted over my disaster to provide a better (scaled) outline.  My artistic proportions were that of a person with one near-sighted and one far-sighted eye - looking through a series of Fun House mirrors.  Seeming to have overstayed our welcome, we pressed on to the next museum, the Anne Frank House.  Again, we purchased our tickets ahead of time, set for a specific hour in the afternoon - avoiding another long line.  The home is a well preserved part of history and truly shows the extent to which Otto Frank and others sacrificed for survival during the Third Reich's occupation of the Netherlands.  Unfortunately, the majority of those hiding perished after being exposed by an unknown informant.  We spent the remaining hour of the afternoon walking the streets and canals, quickly developing an appetite.



One thing that has always struck me as odd about Amsterdam is the sheer abundance of Argentinian steak houses.  The restaurant specialty is ubiquitous; imagine a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream, if the scoop represents the city, then each chocolate chip is the equivalent of a Argentinian steak house.  However, the flooded market of advertised steak houses convinced us to dine at one, settling on Cau - a phonetically appropriate venue.  Our evening drew to a close, but we had a highly anticipated Sunday activity, visiting the famous Garden of Europe.



This time last year, we had just arrived in Germany, were living out of a few suitcases and some boxes.  Our semblance of stability was awry, and a difficult time to plan a present for Julie's birthday.  It was our second day in the country and I had zero ideas for her special day.  I scoured the city of Landstuhl for gifts and ended up finding a vendor who sold fresh tulips, Julie's favorite flower - great success!  Fast forward a year.  To celebrate her thirtieth, a few tulips wouldn't due, thus, we headed to the Keukenhof, the land of tulip fields.


Lisse is about a half hour southwest of Amsterdam and the one lane traffic makes the last kilometer painstakingly frustrating, but worth the effort.  The line for tickets was minimal, but we had previously bought ours online in the event a mass of tour groups descended upon the gardens.  The entrance may have not been crowded, but once inside - a sea of people coursed through the pathways.


Our first impression of the Keukenhof made us wonder why we don't have our own elaborate, radiant garden full of color.  Then we realized, neither of us have the so-called "green thumb."  In fact, we inherited three cacti in our home when moving - they have since perished.  We couldn't even care for succulents, plants that require the least responsibility and are essentially a step above caring for a fake plant.  I digress.  The Keukenhof is beautiful, the gardens are manicured to perfection and the fields in the distance urges one to explore.  To get another perspective, we took a boat tour through the canals that transect the floral farms.  Unfortunately, the weather wasn't cooperative and some of the land had been harvested for sale - thus, we shivered whilst looking at immense fields of dirt piles.



Since we found the boat ride underwhelming, we had a more active plan - ride bikes through the area in search of colorful pastures.  This venture proved to be a far more enjoyable experience, except the route we were looking for had zero signs.  Instead, we aimlessly biked through various areas exploring the tulip fields - having so munch fun that we found it difficult to leave.  The long drive home was a distant burden we preferred to ignore.  We returned our bicycles and tried our best to race to the Belgian border, however; our preoccupation with the botanical gardens delayed us from our goal of a Belgian Beer Run.  Similar to the boat ride, our hopes were high, but were dashed at the last minute - we arrived fifteen minutes too late.  After eating dinner at a pizzeria, we cried the rest of the way home.