Amsterdam is a city which derives half its name from the Amstel River it rests on. The other half is linked to the great Dam at the capital’s city center, not surprisingly, one of the oldest commercial landmarks of the country. When unloading from the cramped bus, within seconds the delicate chiming of bicycle bells rings out to greet the gathering mass of milling travelers. Amsterdamers traverse about the city at rapid speeds on their banana seat bikes. Jumping out of the way, a fellow bus rider curses and learns the first valuable lesson of this city: bikes do not stop for pedestrians.
The city spread flows out of the hostel-yard awaiting exploration. Immediately noticeable is the sound of water lapping sleepily against restraining walls, it catches the ears the moment one is outside; noticeable too is the subtle scent of musty water, the perpetual perfume of the city. By scouting out the main road and carefully stepping onto the gray cobblestone-fanned pathways, the first of the four canals comes into view. Water flows serenely under an arched granite bridge and continues down the long lane of monochromatic buildings. Instead of forging ahead as many would be want to do, the travel guide suggests that the group pause at the center of the bridge to gaze enthralled at the white gables on each house. Adequate compliments of admiration regarding the different shades of gray in the towering brick facades, but narrow width of the Dutch houses are bestowed. Our walk is delayed longer as person after person puffs their way up uneven marble steps to pose under a red lintel-arms spread eagle against the edges of the building for a Kodak moment. The secret to this style of architecture is of course, that Amsterdamers are taxed based on the width of their buildings; therefore is no other solution but to build up. (Thus also allowing for great wealth to be readily apparent.) For further historical relevancy the guide informs us that the outermost canal, (upon which we are currently gawking) is the newest canal in the city, built in the 1800’s. The specific bas-relief sculptures decorating each threshold of the slightly slopping buildings indeed tell of by gone eras. They speak of prosperity and luxury individually defined in each building’s family crest.
Continuing on to the city center the cobblestones give way to well-laid dusty-red bricks, leaving a clearly defined and paved red bike path. Crossing the third canal means walking into the 1700’s architecturally. While this bridge is still made of granite and iron, it features Quetzalcoatl rails. The fact that we are spanning centuries is palpable as we pace forward barely 100 meters and land over the second canal, and stylistically into the 1600’s. Images of modern-day life juxtapose the architecture about us: smart cars parallel park beside the canal edge and sleek ducks squat on top of moored paddling boats as flat touristic boats glide about the canals.
The innermost bridge leads across the oldest canal in the city and then the 1500’s spring into view. Here street performers and shops line the quickly widening lane. One hundred elephant statues, all painted in symbolic designs and Andy Warhol imitations line the main street, the Rokin. A posted sign placard informs the curious that these artistic mammals are a statement of artistic interest and city wide support for the dwindling numbers toward the preservation of these mammoths.
Finally there is Dam square. All roads in the city lead to Dam Square, it is the cities heart and pride. The great palace turned town hall sits imposingly to the North end of the square. It rests in all its splendor of bronze bells, and terra cotta lintels, tall and grandiose under a constant barrage of camera flashes. The presence of metal scaffolding just serves as a reminder that this is a functioning city, one in which people live and work, not one designed purely for the pleasure of gawking travelers. Wandering about the open square Dolce and Gabana ads and neon traffic lights serve as eye candy, adding to the smell of excitement which perfumes the central air. At the South side of the square the sandstone memorial for World War II stands. The monument inherently draws the viewer closer to it. Containing a bit of each from every country that was embroiled in World War II, the sculptures faces are intrinsically haunting and respect-jerking. Reposing on the steps of this grand memorial is one of the best resting spot in the city, a place to put down one’s bag and perhaps snack on some good frites. It is a good place to end a walking tour and to simply absorb a bit of Amsterdam culture through diffusion.
intrepid trekking 