Bike or die, Amsterdam, bike or die - plus a museums and taking Mom (and George) to a gay bar

Bicycle or die. That’s what I read on the bell of a bicycle outside of the Microbia Museum this afternoon. Seems legit, Amsterdam, at least ‘knowledge of the biking system or die’. I keep almost dying or putting others in peril. Anyone who knows me knows that I have the world’s worst sense of direction. Couple that with my natural (but endearing) clumsiness, and I’m probably the not the tourist you want trying to navigate Amsterdam. There are millions (really millions - look it up) of bikers with their own traffic lanes that look so much like sidewalks (and are sometimes the sidewalk, I swear), and then there are the cars that mingle effortlessly with the bikes. Know who doesn’t mingle effortlessly? Yeah, me. Maybe if I had a week or two more of training I’d be good at existing in this city, but alas, we fly out early in the morning to the Algarve, in southern Portugal. Amsterdamians (???) are happy to see me go, I think, on account of being a safety hazard. I should wear an orange cone on my head.

This morning we started at the National Holocaust Museum, which you can imagine was very moving, bringing the tears quickly to my eyes. The museum is housed in the former school that was next to a nursery that housed Jewish children before deportation. They were already separated from their parents and lived full time at the nursery. Many of the nurses conspired with the leaders at the school next door to try and save as many children as possible. So they would hand the children over the nursery wall into the school grounds and then smuggle them out of the school in any way possible. Over 600 children were handed over that wall to safety during the war. It was hard to wrap my head around that figure as I stared at the wall in front of me. We also saw an exhibit of photographs, most of which were found years after the war in personal collections or in antique shops. Many individual stories were shared in these photos and accompanying documents. Over 104,000 Dutch Jewish individuals did not survive the war. That number is huge and heart-stopping. Across the street we spent time at the National Holocaust Memorial. Every identified victim of the genocide in The Netherlands was listed on the memorial wall, and a tall, elegant spire sits on the top of a Jewish star, acting as the centerpiece of the memorial. It’s very scary to be immersed in this history, thinking about the hatred and persecution that happened less than 100 years ago and then think about the world today, the nationalism that is being normalized, and that same hatred out in the open and even celebrated. Who are we as human beings? Can’t we learn from the past? I’m unsure that we are able.

We needed a break after our morning in the Jewish Cultural Quarter, so we Ubered to central Amsterdam and lunched at a place called, as I was to find out when we arrived, very appropriately - The Pancakehouse Upstairs. Yeah, it was upstairs alright. More like up a ladder, a long, steep, intimidating ladder. We climbed (because when fate gives you a ladder to climb, you have to, right?) and arrived in a very small, very quaint, very Dutch little restaurant that served only pancakes. And damn were they ever good. Mom and George are both having mobility problems, and I felt a little bad picking this impossible restaurant for them, but in the end, we all agreed that the payoff was worth the climb. 

After lunch, we made our way to the Tropenmuseum, the cultural museum in the city. It’s housed in a gorgeous old building with huge spaces and arched windows. Just being able to tour the building was reason to visit, but the exhibits, particularly the one on the pilgrimage to Mecca, were fascinating. We covered three floors in just over an hour, all filled up with the atmosphere and knowledge the Tropen had to offer. Then, we migrated to a very different museum called the Microbia. This was “cultural” as well, if you consider the cultures of bacteria and other little critters that are housed here. We peeked in many microscopes and learned about our friends, the microbes. Well, most of them are friends. Little Ebola virus is so cute! Too bad she’s evil. And e-coil exists everywhere according to this museum. Watch out, it’s comin for you!

Our last stop of the day was in the red light district (our only time visiting this section of the city), at one of the oldest gay bars in the world. Cafe ‘t Mandje is a tiny place that’s easy to miss waking down the street. Inside, the bar is dark, but welcoming. On the ceiling are hundreds of cut-off ties from patrons from the past, who apparently deserved their ties being removed. Also, there were socks, shoes and other unmentionables hanging from the ceiling. We sat at a side table, taking it all in and drinking ginger ale, the only ones in the place at 5:30, except for another pair of tourists that came for the atmosphere and not for the booze. We’ve seen some pretty remarkable historical places in Amsterdam and I’d rank Cafe ‘t Mandje right up there with the rest.

Home to pack we went, ready to say goodbye to The Nether and to all things Dutch (see ya bike fiends!) and head to Portugal in the morning. We will be meeting up with Jen and Eliza, which will really get this party going. What kind of shenanigans will be get into next?

Bicycle or die

This amazing place

The children. Only the girl in the white dress survived the war.

A display of suitcases, each one with the name of a child killed in the war, from one school in Amsterdam. There were 147 suitcases in total.

The children who attend the school today carried the suitcases to the National Holocaust Museum in a recent ceremony.

The National Holocaust Monument

An offering

Wooden tulips with notes from visitors

Hello Upstairs Pancake House

Ascending to pancake heaven

Cute little pancake house in the sky

Seems scarier going down

Pancake neighborhood (I’m pretty sure that’ it’s official name)

The Tropen

Beautiful building

Seriously gorgeous 

Time for Telletubbies? Why is this in the Tropen?

Paintings from the colonialism exhibition 

Collections

George’s transportation

Tiny tiny museum

Cultured cultures

My favorite

Wijde Blik anyone?

Approaching Cafe ‘t Mandje

Here she is!

I took Mom to a gay bar

I took my 16-year-old to a gay bar 

The scene

The ties

Goodbye bicycle city!