As an old person with far too much experience, I feel it only right to pass on a few life lessons when the opportunity presents itself. And so one did, this afternoon when I returned to my hotel. It had been a day of two halves (weatherwise) and I had returned to my room a bit damp, a bit drunk and a bit sleepy. If nothing else, I needed a coffee.
And, actually, today was my first coffee for 48 hours. This is a situation mostly unheard of. Actually, if it was heard of, it would be unpleasant. I am not nice when I am denied caffeine. However, given I was going to be a long time on a bus and I’m not that keen on bus toilets, it seemed the best thing to do to not have a coffee which is, after all, a diuretic.
Then, of course, being in a budget hotel, there’s no coffee. Or soap. But that’s another story. Suffice it to say that the coffee I had at a wonderful little French pâtisserie not far from my hotel was perfect. It may not have been but, 48 hours since my last one, it was amazing.
Having fuelled my under energised brain, I headed towards the Rijksmuseum which, as it turns out, was about ten minutes away. That’s why I was in Amsterdam. To see the Vermeer exhibition. But that’s tomorrow. Today was more a reconnoitre to ascertain where it was. And it was completely by chance that I discovered the Museum of Modern Art or Moco as they call it here in Amsterdam.
A small building just behind the Rijksmuseum, with some powerful works.
A lot of modern art seems to be about protest with the world. It’s like an artist becomes one because of perceived inequalities in life. Banksy does this, as does The Kid*. As do so many modern artists. I’m not saying this critically. Protest in art is, obviously, a good thing. After all, when all you have is your art, then that’s how you communicate with the world at large. I do wonder, though, what Renaissance artists were saying. Except Caravaggio. It’s obvious what he was saying.
Anyway, that aside, I did rather enjoy Moco. Even more so because when I arrived it was not very full, but when I left the queue was very long.
And, of course, art isn’t just about painting. As I said to Dave today, he really should read Catch 22 because it is a masterpiece of 20th century literature as well as being a protest about the futility of war. His friend Bob agreed and so the two of us tried to convince him. He said he would read it. But who knows.
Dave is a pilot while Bob was his mechanic. Bob was an incredibly sprightly 79 while Bob was a youngster at 57. We met them both at Brouwerij’tij (the Windmill) when we all had to get a bit cosy under a big umbrella when the rain fell. We were there to enjoy a few beers and some food with Patrick who was John’s best man and the guy who he shared a flat with when they were both at university.
I thoroughly loved the Windmill, though it did get rather crowded late on.
Later, as I made my way back to my hotel, I realised what it is I don’t like about Amsterdam. Patrick, John’s best man, doesn’t like Amsterdam either but I didn’t get a chance to ask him why. Back in the summer I thought it was the litter and the bikes but, today, I realised it was more than that. It’s the fact that the whole place is a victim of its own success. Or excess.
It seems like Amsterdam has become a Disneyland for hen parties, stag does and bus loads of tourists. It is overrun with them. You can’t catch a tram without it being packed with people heading for somewhere to indulge in something or other. There doesn’t seem to be a real heart to Amsterdam. Not to me, anyway.
Even so, today was a lovely day, spent with Weasels, drinking, eating and talking, the things that Weasels are good at. I learned a lot about people I knew and others I’d only just met. It was an excellent day.
We finished the day with dinner once more at Canvas, on top of their hotel. It’s a lively spot which, on Saturday nights becomes a raucous dance hall filled with around 600 eager to boogie dancing loons. We thought it best to retire before any of that started. Mind you, if last night was anything to go by, poor Lindy may not have managed a lot of sleep.
And, my advice to the young person behind the bar at my hotel was that you take coffee to keep you awake and rum to warm you up. I’m not sure that she agreed, but it certainly worked on me.
* I’d never heard of The Kid before today. His work is very powerful. He is a very skilled painter with a penchant for the political. His works are extraordinary and well worth a viewing.
