Amsterdam I
I haven't written here in a month.  First I went to a conference in Boston, then we launched a product in Denver, then Marissa and I took a much needed vacation.  We just spent the past eight days in Amsterdam, Bruges (or Brugge) and Brussels.

We had a great time.  A few impressions:

Tall, angular people - particularly women.  Just legs and arms, stretching further than I could imagine. 

Rivers of bicycles, flowing down narrow streets and across bridges.  Amazing how second-nature riding a bike looked to these people.  So many bikes and so few accidents (we only saw one close call and one self induced wipe-out, and I think she was a tourist).

History.  The buildings, the canals, the museums.  The people.  Everything reminded me that where I am now - the jobs I've held, the places I've lived, the vacations I've taken, are the tiniest offshoots of a much larger branch of a much much larger tree.

Thoughtful, intelligent people.  We didn't meet many locals, but those we did were engaging, frank, and clear-headed.  At the first place we ate - this funky pancake place up a very steep flight of stairs - I told the waiter I wanted a savory pancake instead of the special he had recommended, which was sweet.  His response?

"Of course.  It is your life.  You can do what you want."

How could you not like a place that creates an attitude like that?

Amsterdam II
Inspired by Eggsbaconchipsandbeans, I decided that, as we were visiting two countries known for producing and consuming some of the greatest beers in the world (Belgium and the Netherlands), I should try to capture some of this simple greatness in pictures.

Unlike Russell Davies (whom I should like to meet for breakfast someday), I remember less detail about the beer itself and more about how I was feeling when I drank it.

Take this scene, for instance.  We had arrived in Amsterdam at around 10:00 a.m., after a sleepless overnight flight from Nashville via Cincinnati.  We had managed to eat some fantastic pancakes (as mentioned in Amsterdam 1) and were out for a walk.  Fighting the urge to sleep by getting acquainted with the city.

It had been a chilly morning, with a little drizzle.  The temperature felt exaggerated because we had left 90 degrees and 90% humidity just 18 hours earlier. We were hoping it might warm up a bit.

Our walk took us to the edge of the Jordaan District, where we saw this attractive corner cafe.  Suddenly, it was clear what we needed - a relaxing sit with a fresh Heineken, our first of the trip.

I got the beer while Marissa grabbed a table.  Inside, the cafe was perfect - worn but well-maintained, smelling of cigarettes, beer and smoked meat.  The bartender was a lovely blond who first spoke to me in Dutch (Yay, I passed the "I am not a tourist from the U.S. test").  I ordered a Heineken and then pointed to a tap that said "De Koninck".  "One of those as well, please."

Back outside: It is difficult to express just how good it felt to take that first sip of Heineken, on Dutch soil, after an exhausting trip.  The feelings of fatigue, disorientation and impatience melted away as the crisp, clean and cold liquid went down my throat.

The De Koninck was beautiful.  I later learned that it was Belgian - obvious by the kind of glass it was served in.  It was complex - a little malty, a little spicy, finishing a little hoppy - and enjoyable to the very last drop.  I remember being struck that beer making had been going on for so many centuries - a fact that I had known but had not understood, until now.

The sky cleared enough for the bartender to pull back the awning and we spent the afternoon sitting in the sun, watching the bikes fly by.  Then we walked back to Spuistraat and bought a big bag of frites for dinner.

Amsterdam III
Three Sisters Cafe on Leidesplein.  We had been at the Van Gogh Museum all day.  They had an Egon Shiele exhibit.  But right now my feet were tired and I was thirsty.  Dommmelsch Pilsner and plenty of people to watch.

The server tried to rip us off.  The smallest bill I had was 50 Euro (I know, very touristy of me) so I gave it to her, apologized, and asked for change.  She never came back.  I had to track her down in the bar.  She hemmed and hawed, and then just apologized and gave me change.  She had a look on her face that said "I knew it was wrong and all my instincts said no but I did it anyway and I feel like I have let myself and everyone who loves me down."  I felt bad for her, but pissed too.  After about 90 seconds of inner conflict all I felt was pissed.  Happily, though , about 90 seconds after that we walked down the street, got some bitterballen from one of those automated places and I felt nothing but good...

Amsterdam IV
Cafe Hans en Grete, on the way back from the Rijksmuseum. Delicious "witte", with its lemon muddler, and a Heineken.  I love the Hero sign and groovy cigarrette machine in the stairwell going down to the restrooms.

It is now two months after this picture was taken.  We are struggling with the Tennessee heat, working, working, working, and spending our weekends as such: rise early on Saturday, go to the farmer's market for fresh peaches that are so good you want to cry, corn on the cob with names like "Peaches 'n Cream", and fresh field peas of all kind.  Go to the liquor store for Georgian (as in Eastern Europe, not the home of CNN) Vodka or another bottle of Protocolo, then to Target, or the grocery store for what we couldn't get at the market.  Then home by one, where we lie down to recover from the heat.

Sunday?  Well, on Sunday we don't do jack - except cook whatever delicious produce we picked up, along with the field peas and a ham hock.  And we make a cocktail.  We do not go outside.

And to think that eight weeks ago we were sipping on these beautiful beers, with a brisk breeze blowing outside and the temperature hovering around 65 degrees.  I think we ate a seafood salad.

What's my point?  It was fabulous in Amsterdam - absolutely a blast.  Amsterdam is my cup of tea.  And while Nashville isn't Amsterdam and isn't really my cup of anything, it does have a lot to offer.

Or, maybe what I am learning is that wherever I am has something to offer - if I look for it.

Amsterdam V
The neighborhood pub whose name I can't remember.  We drank here at least twice.  The first time a foursome of the tallest, blondest, Dutchest-looking young women sat at the table next to us.  One of them was singing a Gwen Stefani tune.

Another time (or maybe the same afternoon) a young couple sat at the table on the other side of us.  Intelligent, articulate, multi-lingual and witty.  They charmed me while Marissa went to the restroom.  They lived around the corner, they knew where Nashville is - "That's Bush country, right?"  they said, with a smile.  I had to sigh and say "I'm afraid so".  Then they were kind, and looked at me as if to say "we know it isn't your fault".

We had a date with a Surinamese restaurant that night and had to leave.  I would have liked to stay longer, to get to know my new Dutch friends (his name was also Matthew), but we were hungry and the beer was racing from our empty stomachs directly to our heads.  So we had to go.  By the way, the Surinamese food was fucking unbelievable.