Amsterdam
Official Brunger tour no. 17
Easter 2015
And so it began. As Master Brunger neared the end of his 19-month secondment in the Netherlands, I finally found a convenient time in our diaries to hop on a plane over for a couple of nights during Easter 2015. Having been informed of my trip, Daisy noted that "sometimes when you go on an adventure with someone with the same name, you go on a Paul adventure", which was undoubtedly true, and demonstrably in this case.
Anyway, I arrived at Manchester airport and headed for what was quite a busy bar, deciding to send Paul a picture of my progress, demonstrating the start of my holiday...
...to which Paul meekly responded with a picture of a tired cup of tea and some other assorted desk junk.
Having landed at Schiphol airport, and wandered around a good deal, I settled for the bar I first considered and ordered my second beer, waiting for my host.
And here he is! With my flights already booked and the holiday planned, I had been dismayed to learn of the work team enjoying some champagne in the office in my absence (although, y'know, I'd rather be on holiday). The champagne was to celebrate some internal PwC awards success or other, rather than simply enjoying my absence, but nevertheless it was mildly irritating to miss out on free booze (for a second time, I think - I seem to remember missing a qualification drinks or something). So, to this end, Paul and I perused the swankier end of the menu in the first bar we went to [called?]. We were a little put off by the prices and, since we weren't fully committed, we decided on a couple of glasses of Prosecco, and toasted our absent friends. [Clink.]
Cheers everyone back home! Gareth responded with a picture of the remnants of what they had been drinking, which I have to say looked a bit more impressive than our glasses of slightly cheaper plonk. For our photo, I seemed to hang back in the shadows while Paul did his best Kevin Eldon impression in the spotlight.
After sensibly switching (back) to tasty beer, we headed to [another bar] and decided to engage in a Large Platter Of Mostly Meat. Which was bloody yummy, mostly. It looks like quite a large platter, and it was. But it set us up well. Perhaps too well. The bar was full of memorabilia, which made it, er, memorable.
With the stodgily solid and excessively carnivorous foundation consumed, we trotted on to another source of alcoholic beverages, namely the Beer Temple.
It offered a wide array of beers; or, at least, an array of empty bottles.
But, yes, they did serve beers, and lots of them, some of which are helpfully depicted here.
And, well, after a few beers had flowed, there's a certain inevitability about... taking a picture of a multi-coloured show window of a condomerie, which, according to the website advertised below, was the world's first condom speciality shop. We didn't go in, of course; it was only necessary to snap a photo for pure amusement purposes.
It wasn't long before we ended up in a games bar. It was an amusement arcade with lots of retro physical games, such as this basketball game, and it had the advantage, oh the lovely advantage, of serving beers. Little did we know that this basketball game, which was evidently free to play, would grab our attention with a vice-like grip. More on this later.
And what games bar is not complete without a gigantic ball pool near the entrance? Paul couldn't resist going for a dip...
...although he did seem to get rather to into it. It does look here like he's broken his leg. That angle is not natural, is it?
Always good, when enjoying the social life of a city for the first time, to locate a source of hangover information. And this indeed was the "center" for such things. I shudder to think what's in all those bottles. Or vials.
It was tempting to pop into here to find out "why you have a hangover" and "how you can prevent or at least mitigate one". From the website, it unsurprisingly seems to involve consuming some of their produce. Nice try. We'll try a breakfast of kings instead...
...which is what we did here, at a place which served a number of egg dishes. Paul pointed out that they have a guest book, to which we added a whole host of egg-based puns, largely in keeping with the other contents of the book. After well, we are master punners and could not stop until we had filled a page with comedy gold.
After breakfast, we went to the 'I amsterdam' letters, which are located at the back of Rijksmuseum on Museumplain (seems like a good place for a museum). The website says "Visitors photograph themselves, in, around and on top of the slogan, and it always manages to inspire the novice photographer." Which is true enough.
This is looking the other way, viewing a watery thing.
Back to the letters and Paul was gripped in the midst of hesitation. Given the number of pesky tourists (er, including me), it was difficult to get a photo without a random person appearing, and so it proved, with a girl sat on the 'e'. Free country, I suppose. And e's are, after all, good.
Here I liked the contrast of the Real American Hotdog trailer in front of the Dutch museum. Where cultures collide.
It was yet to pass 11am, so a visit to Le Pub was perhaps premature, but it's a pretty good name for a pub nevertheless. We wouldn't be back.
This shot is very Amsterdam, all shoddy bikes and a canal.
But the fun, now, was over. It was time for education. (And, no, those two things cannot, and will not, go hand in hand.) So we went to a cat museum, and it was called...
...Katten Kabinet, depicted by this picture showing a cat walking lonely between the trees amongst the snow. Of course, I didn't really need to say all this as you can see it below - that's sort of the point of the photo - but I felt compelled to confirm it verbally.
This document, as well as helpfully translating Katten Kabinet into Cat Cabinet (I am presuming this is a translation), confirmed that it was founded in commemoration of the "red and frisky Tom Cat John Pierpont Morgan. We'll leave that there apart from just mentioning in passing that the picture below shows one of the best things in the world ever.
The bizarre implication from the sign telling us that the WC was downstairs as this contraption was out of order, was that this was itself a WC. Surely not...
So, as you might imagine in a cat museum, there were cats everywhere and, in this case, as ably pointed to by my glamorous assistance, up to all sorts. Where by all sorts of course I mean animal sex.
There are a great many terrors that could befall a village in olden times, but none more so than a giant, and hungry, cat with that manic look in its eyes. I'd run if I were you.
And so we come on to perhaps the greatest thing ever: cat dollars. I was initially going to snap them up given that I thought they were a mere 1.50 Euros. But when Paul pointed out that it was actually much more likely to be 7.50 Euros, I baulked, given we had already forked out money to get into the museum (which, I must be honest, as museums go was a bit bonkers). I now of course regret the decision not to spend 7.50 Euros. It would have been magical to own cat dollars; I realise that now. Still, I can always peruse this photo and wonder what might have been.
I don't know about you, but I do like to start a Friday night with a glug of Seaman's Shot, preferably without even the need for a glass. And I'm no language expert, but I'm pretty sure it's being advertised as "demonic drink". Basically, what's not to like?
Mr Brunger, ever the semi-willing, slightly lethargic tourist guide, took me to the next location of note. The single place where you can supposedly see lots of bridges in multiple directions. In fact, a quick search tells me that you can see 15 bridges, including the one you are on. Not all are featured here.
Amsterdam, where Greek tavernas sit comfortably alongside topless cafés.
Rembrandt, a famous Dutch painter, has his own square in Amsterdam (Rembrandtplein, or Rembrandt Square), where he looks down at what is a representation of his most famous painting, The Night Watch. The sculptures were put there in 2006.
Obviously, the presence of such sculptures enables to "have a little bit of fun" with them. Here, I have a musket poking into my mouth. Hopefully it won't go off!
It didn't, of course, which gave Paul the confidence to check if there was anything in there of note.
Such is modern life, even Rembrandt has his own advertising campaign. "Come and stay nearby, using booking.com to book your accommodation!", he is presumably saying.
A busy street of shoppers, cyclists and tram lines, with a building at the end.
Henri Willig is a cheese producer and not only does he sell cheese, but more besides (perhaps including a lot more cheese).
And, on that tantalisingly cheesy moment, it is on to page two, if you will. Or back to the Secret Portal.