The Nether Regions

As much as we all dream of running in clogs through green fields littered with windmills and tulips, the intention for visiting Holland was quite simple really; to see the bizarre and amazing spectacle of Amsterdam.

Many of you who have adventured here will attest to the fact that there isn't anywhere else even remotely like it. Proudly 60% above sea level since the 1950's, Amsterdam has grown from a quiet town into a sprawling maze, the key characteristics of which hit you almost immediately upon exit of the train station; the canals, the boats, the trams (and the connected overhead mess of electric cables), the orgy of bicycles locked to every possible stationary object and of course the nebula of weed fumes emitted from the small amry of students and party go'ers loitering at the front door.

Upon this city descend Europe's unwashed hordes, all contributing to and wanting to smoke a bit of the reputation it deserves. Generally you can rate the "liveliness" of a place by hostel dorm sleep patterns and given the fact dorm rooms always seemed to have at least 1 person asleep at ANY time of the day this was a strong indicator.

First things first though, let's talk bicycles. I mentioned the bike orgy at the train station right? Well that's just a sign of things to come. Amsterdam is riddled with bikes. You really have no idea how many of these contraptions (that seem to look like they are dated back to pre-WW2) are blasting around the streets of Amsterdam at breakneck speeds. The most dangerous of these are ridden by girls with supreme confidence in their ability to steer one handed, whilst talking on the mobile phone, carrying several bags of shopping and wearing heels and a skirt. As an Australian, crossing a road where people drive on the right is already a challenge, now split the car traffic to a fast lane and side lanes, and then add two tram lines in the middle, surrounded by this afformentioned bicycle onslaught on both sides and suddenly you are in a game of Frogger trying to cross the road.

Anyway, assuming you are not killed immediately by the roads, the Amsterdam experience can then commence and commence it should with the marijuana muffin, AKA the space cake. It really tastes exactly as one might expect it to taste, like a joint thrown into a cupcake, and it has the sinister effect of just making you hungrier the more you eat it. You can then top that off by smoking a freshly rolled bit of green if you are not wasted enough and then laze around in street bars joining in the national sport of "people watching". Afterwards comes an inevitable march to a pizza or kebab shop (which are here both booming industries), but you must try to retain enough sanity to avoid the little "coin operated food poisoning box" shops the Dutch seem so keen on.

After the wacky tobacky, the next step is satisfying the ultimate intrigue you fight so hard to hold back since the sun set; seeing the red light district. To many travellers it is the holy grail of the Amsterdam experience for which you can never really be prepared and we knew it was going to be all hands on deck too given the navy seemed to be in town. So after a few pints of Dutch courage, you cross a few tram tracks, a few canals, a few drunken sailor corpses and find yourself in a section of town bathed in red neon, quite literally the red light district described on the tin. Here, you can go an enjoy a live sex show or even become part of one if you're feeling really perky. If that is not your thing, alley ways are lined with row upon row of ground level windows, inside which near naked prostitutes show their .. wares .. to passers by and invite you in for a quick bit of fun described by locals as "not really that bad for your health". It's quite disturbing, awesome and surreal to see this and no photo can do it justice. To be honest, attempting to take the photo is not really worth the risk either considering tourists are regularly hospitalised and deprived of their cameras for doing it.

Some might cringe at the thought of the whole affair but in actuality these prostitutes get paid well, they have a union, security, child minding services and pay tax. They even have a Prostitution Information Centre! The question of whether it is right or wrong is one of opinion but all in all it seems like a pretty decent deal for the ladies compared to their counterparts in other countries. Just remember though, if a child ever asks what that lady in the room is doing, the locals just say "she's getting ready to go to the beach!". Oh also, if you do come here and actually want to sample the product, make sure you choose a woman in a room lit by red lights, if it's lit by blue then that's not a woman. Probably also a good idea to stay away from the rooms with black-light UV's too ... I've seen CSI, it might be scary what collateral stains from previous customers you'll see in there.

Now that I look back, a lot of the experience in Amsterdam now seems a little hazy to me, I think there was a visit to Anne Frank's house and some pancakes in there ... and lots of boats .... and some falaffels ... and some market squares. Perhaps uncertainty of memory is the sure-fire way to know you've actually "experienced" Amsterdam though?

Until next time, here are some English to Dutch translations for you. You might be suprised you how close the languages really are!

English: How late is it?
Dutch: Hoe laat is het?

English: Where is the train?
Dutch: Waar is de trein?

English: Thank you
Dutch: Dank u

English: Oh, and the toilet is stuck
Dutch: Oh, en het toilet is stuk

English: Can I see it?
Dutch: Kan Ik het zien?

English: What is that?
Dutch: Wat is dat?

English: Sorry
Dutch: Sorry

English: Call a doctor
Dutch: Bel een dokter

It's uncanny!

The Mussels from Brussels

You know, given this blog has a distinct focus on beer and cheese consumed, I had a very strong feeling that Belgium was going to be a winner here. Sure Belgium doesn't evoke the same epic visions as other lands, but the reality is Belgium is so much more an adventure in taste than just sight. All edible pleasures gravitate here in a nexus of nom (as in the nom nom nom eating sound) and even though the people here are somehow not overweight, give me fermented curds and brewed hops and I will give you a traveler with pants suddenly one size too small.

Beer.

It permeates every aspect of Belgium to such an extent that liver complacency is essentially impossible. There is literally so much choice that mortals can be blinded by it, couple the temptation to try it all with stupidly high alcohol contents and you are now in a magical realm of blurry memories and photos. One beer house we went to offered no less than 400 different types of beer, all detailed in a menu that looked not unlike an ancient spellbook with a wooden cover. Somewhat comically, the first two pages were devoted to food just to keep up appearances.

At this point I now have to share with you a very special moment for me personally. There was so much beer to pick from that I resorted to the age old technique of "flick to a page and point". I really had no idea what I was going to get (nor did I notice the price tag!) but it turned out to be a moment of divine inspiration. By all accounts it seemed like a normal day so far, how was I to know that the incredible was about to happen. When the waitress returned I was delivered a rather plain, boring and nondescript beer bottle that wasn't even cool enough to have it's own dedicated, branded glass.

I suddenly felt a bit duped.

However, once it was poured and I began to drink, a surreal feeling occurred. I realised that what I was drinking was possibly, no, quite probably, no ... most surely the best beer I had ever tasted. Now as you can see on the list to the right, quite a few beers have been tasted now so at first I was skeptical but the more I drank the more I was stunned. Yes, this beer was stunning me! Ladies and gentleman I present to you my most favourite beer in the entire world: the holy brew of Westvleteran.

That was the high point of my beer experiences. It is all downhill from here, you see since my beergasm I've looked into this beer a little as I wanted to get more or send some home. Unfortunately, it's like a Shakesbeerean tragedy; this beer is possibly one of the hardest to get hold of in the entire world.

It's brewed by trappist monks and they only brew enough of this beer to run their monastery, and will make no more regardless of demand. They do not supply to wholesalers, they only sell to individual buyers who drive to the abbey in person and even then you must book an appointment months in advance and can only take one small case, per car license plate per month. The resale of the beer is also strictly prohibited, so what I had was essentially a "grey market" sale. The head of their order, Father Abbott, states "We are not brewers. We are monks. We brew beer to be able to afford being monks."

My untold joy is thus married to an unfathomable sadness that I may never drink it again and there may be nothing better from here on. I imagine this is what a dabble in heroin feels like. Oh well.

Mussels.

Big pots of them, cooked in a white wine and butter stock with fresh vegetables - always served with frites / fries. This meal is just amazing and was enjoyed at a small restaurant where the locals came from miles around just for this one dish. Table neighbours, two chaps from Antwerp who worked for Godiva chocolates, were also very happy to share their tales and experience of Belgium. These moments are always the best parts of traveling, a connection with strangers from another place, even if just for a passing moment, over great food.

Chocolate.

Belgium is renowned for it and for good reason. Sure they don't grow the beans, but it's what they do with them that truly stands out. There are pralines and truffles everywhere, made the same way for hundreds of years. There is also a chocolate museum too where you can not only learn the long and glorious history of all things chocolate but you can watch pralines being made too. If you're game, you can also partake in a spot of cocoa snorting. You know a country takes it's chocolate seriously when you can do a line of it.

Waffles.

Synonymous with the Belgian way of life. Is there truly a time or meal of the day they can not improve? In Belgium you'll become one with the waffle. You'll learn to respect it's crispy goodness and tremble in the presence of the sweet minions that accompany it. I really wish waffles were more common in Nottingham, especially the little portable honey Stroopwaffles. One can dream.

Add to all of this the pancakes, the roast eel, the Flemish rabbit stew, the Belgian breads and suddenly leaving Belgium becomes so very, very difficult. Partly due to a food addiction, partly due to digestive related lethargy.

All in all, Belgium is a lot better than one expects. It really just doesn't have much of a reputation but it should! It is actually very scenic in parts (Brugges and the Grand Place in Brussels are especially amazing), the people are really cool and the food, well, read above.

I'll sign this blog off with a bit of trivia for those of you  know of my fond love of the beer called Kwak and it's rather eccentric chemistry-set-like glass. In Brussels I found a small story on why the glass is so shaped.

"Under Naploeonic law, the coachmen where not allowed to down as the diligence other travellers, so created on a glass shaped may contain some amount of beer and stay within reach. On the diligence, was an easel set in which the glass was put to that beer does not escape despite the shocking and road horses started at a fast pace."

Appalling English aside, what it means is basically the Kwak glass was designed so apparently people could drink in bumpy old stage coaches without spilling their beer when they put it down. Clever!