1/8/23
Newsletter #543
The Crack of Dawn
I’m going to Amsterdam in two weeks. I need to shake up my life a little bit. I’m too secluded here in my little house, located in residential suburb where I have nowhere to walk. My daily walk is in a circle around the neighborhood, where I rarely see any other people. It’s a friendly enough place, and should I happen to see someone, wave and say hi, they’ll wave back. But if I don’t initiate the contact, then I can just walk on by without a word. There are even some folks that though I’ve waved and said hi, will just ignore me like I’m not there. Worst of all, there’s nowhere to walk and get a cup of coffee. Before the pandemic there was a group of old men who met every morning at McDonald’s. Over the course of the twenty-two years that I’ve lived here, aging from forty-three to sixty-five, about five years ago I felt that I was naturally allowed to be part of their group, so I joined them. If I sat down, I was automatically part of their group. None of these guys was all that interesting, but at least they wanted to talk. Then the pandemic struck and that was the end of that coffee klatch, which never returned.
But the U.S. is not designed for walking; it’s designed for cars. Since there was so little old infrastructure here, most of the real construction didn’t occur until after WWII. That’s when all of the freeways were built, and the towns and cities simply accommodated them. Previously, anybody could build pretty much anything next to anything. But once the freeways went in, U.S. towns and cities began zoning commercial buildings away from residential communities so that you were then forced to drive to get from one to the other. That’s why I have to hike a mile to get to a McDonald’s where I no longer want to go.
But in Amsterdam, most of the city’s infrastructure was built in the 1600s and 1700s, like much of Europe. There’s no zoning. Commercial and residential are right next to each other. In the distance I cover walking to McDonald’s, in Amsterdam I would pass a half dozen places to get coffee (and pot), as well as many people, in all weather.
During my past troubles with alcohol, which are long over, when the smoke finally cleared my driver’s license was revoked. Not suspended; revoked. When I mention this to anyone they say, “Oh, you can get it back,” implying soon. “Revoked,” as opposed to “suspended,” begins with, you can’t even apply until five years after your last conviction. Meaning, on January 20, in two weeks, I still have one more year before I can even apply. Word has it that the Secretary of State is not eager to give back revoked driver’s licenses, thus making it as difficult as possible. Whatever it is, when they allow me to do it, I’ll do it. Until then I am a pedestrian, as I have been for eight years. I take a lot of Uber cars.
How do I mitigate this difficulty? One way is to go to a place that is not only specifically designed for pedestrians; it’s the most pedestrian oriented country in the world. And not just Amsterdam, but all of the cities in Holland. Their idea is to remove cars from the city, which wasn’t built to accommodate them to begin with. Amsterdam recently banned 10,000 street parking places, which they haven’t yet fully implemented. They have already gotten rid of thousands of other street parking spots. When they clear a street of parking – there are huge underground parking structures nearby – they install blocks of cement at either end making it a pedestrian paradise. Any café located there can now put out tables and chairs, grocery stores can set up fruit stands, whatever. Then shrubs and flowers are planted by the city, as well as the businesses and the residents. Therefore, if I can’t drive, then I’ll put myself in the most pedestrian oriented place on earth.
I first went to Amsterdam in the 1990s, drawn mainly by the allure of smoking weed in public. The idea of going to a coffeeshop, drinking a cup of coffee while smoking a joint, and feeling that I was using the facility properly. That I could sit at an outdoor table, smoke pot, and it didn’t disturb any of the world around me. People rushed hither and thither, to and fro, and didn’t give a rat’s ass what me or anyone else were smoking at any café.
I will be staying at the Grand Hotel, near the Vondel Park. The first time I went to Amsterdam, nearly thirty years ago, trying to save money, yet still wanting to stay somewhere cool – this was pre-internet, so I used travel books – I chose the Hotel Vondel, located right on the Vondel Park. The hotel is apparently long gone. Anyway, it was a beautiful little hotel with a “lift,” a tiny elevator from the 1910s, big enough for one human. The hotel was located on the Vondelstraat.
I arrived at Schiphol Airport and got a taxi into town. The driver was a middle aged Dutch male driver who asked, “Where are you going?” I said, pronouncing it this way, “I’m going to the Hotel Von-del” (like Martha Reeves’ singers). The driver was baffled and had no idea what I was talking about, so I showed him the address. Upon seeing it he became slightly angry and offended, in a nationalistic way, and said, “It’s not Von-del; it’s Vooondl! which apparently must be shouted. I asked, “And who was Vondel?” The driver groaned, “Oh, he was a writer from the 1600s who is now unreadable.”
Among Vondel’s many plays and poems is an epic poem called Gijsbrecht van Aemstel (1637), a portrayal of the beginnings of Amsterdam in the 1300s — before the windmills and the dykes — which may or may not be based on fact.
“Goededag” is good day in Dutch, but if you’re not Dutch it’s unpronounceable.