At Last

My computer has returned to me. It was gone exactly five weeks, which was about four weeks longer than I would have told you I could stand to be computer-free, if you had asked me in July. But now that I'm back online, let us never speak again of motherboards or whether or not Jesse actually did swallow an electromagnet while in Berlin. Instead, here is a photo-essay chronicling my trip so far. Why make a blog almost entirely out of photos? Because I can.

This is the view out my window: a real Dutch windmill. I know it works, because I watched guys climbing all over it and rebuilding the arms for about two weeks.

My living room, which faces the opposite way.


A random house on a canal. I spent a lot of time taking random pictures while Jesse drew things, and I don't remember where or why I took most of them. It's very Amsterdammy, though.


Another canal with cool buildings. Amsterdam became very prosperous in the 16th century, and stayed pretty wealthy for a while, so the main canals in the center of the city (Herengracht, Keizersgracht, Prinsengracht) are lined with examples of all sorts of architecture.


This is a pretty big intersection, with a fun building on the corner. The water in the canals is more brownish than it looks here, because lots of gross things drain into the canals. More on that soon.


Jesse, with a nearly completed drawing of the previous intersection. I put it up on my wall, despite my roommate's insistence that I should "sell it." To Jesse's left you can see a baguette bag that contains our lunch: the greatest sandwiches ever. We ate them every day for a week; I still eat them most days now. They are basically just good cheese and good meat on great bread, which is a deceptively simple recipe.


Jesse in front of the Rijksmuseum, which is a huge building but has a pretty small collection at the moment, at least by major-european-museum standards. Part of it is under construction, though, so we're guessing there will be more paintings of rich old Dutch dudes available for perusal once the work is done.


At a tiny proeflokaal ("tasting place") called Wijnand Fockink, we sip lemon brandywine (me) and orange-cinnamon-vanilla liqour (Jesse) the correct way: lean down to slurp off the meniscus before picking up your flute to finish the drink. If you try to do things the other way around, the bartender-lady might yell at you for spilling.


Disaster! We're way on the other side of Amsterdam from where I live, and after liquor and coffees, Jesse has a problem. There's no way we can make it home in time... but what's this green, metal contraption?


It seems to be called a "urinoir." I later found out that the reason all the urinoirs are located next to canals is, of course, that that's where they empty into. Great.


Jesse doesn't care that this whole idea of having semi-enclosed public urinals is not really fair to the gender that includes me.


In fact, his self-satisfiedness continues to the Stedelijk Museum, which is super-modern. This isn't even part of the museum itself; it's just the entryway. Jesse says this picture makes it look like he's from the future. I point out that it was my idea to shoot it.


I could post a bunch of cute-animal pictures from the Amsterdam Zoo, but then you would never realize how incredibly dangerous these adorable creatures are, so instead here is a ubiquitous warning sign. This sign is both intelligible in every language and understandable in none. "Yield to animals with eight teeth!" it might be saying. Or, "Your donation today will pay for a year of orthodontic work on a marmot." Or maybe, "Watch out for sock puppets!" Even context doesn't help much, since this sign can be found on the cages of the meerkats and the fossa and the blind cave-fish, but not on the crocodiles or the chimps.

I wanted to put my fingers through the bars of the chimps' enclosure to test whether the lack of sign meant that it was safe to do so, but Jesse wouldn't let me.