My first year at Leiden University was only an introduction to the main course, Translation Studies at the University of Amsterdam ("UvA") which distinguished itself from the Free University ("VU") by a less conservative, more liberated approach; in all, a freer attitude. Such are their reputations; I've never had a chance to compare. The UvA has buildings in widely varying styles all around the centre; the VU is one complex situated either in or uncomfortably close to Amstelveen. 'Nuff said.
Variety is generally the main characteristic of Amsterdam, at least those parts of it that haven't been ruined by grimy modern architecture. Bright neon signs on historical monuments. Sleek shops and noisy markets. Restaurants, shops and temples to cater to most nationalities living there, and those are many; the centre of Amsterdam is the only place in the Netherlands that is truly cosmopolitan. Old buildings that loom over me, new ones that make me think the architect must have been on an acid trip, so-so ones and ones that have obviously seen better days. The "tourist" areas selling T-shirts to make tourists think that the Dutch really do spend their days snorting in pot heaven, and the quiet places, such as the area around the entrance to Amsterdam's famous zoo "Artis", breathing calm and distinction. And that's without counting some of the really wild (as in, absurd) areas where I never went because they held no interest for me, like the part of the red lights district situated on houseboats. Although I did catch sight of that huge pink elephant, nudge nudge wink wink, tourists will know what I mean. The Dutch have an aversion to weirdness, but Amsterdam is an exception.
Studying in this place, commuting mainly from Hoofddorp, I spent what I can sourly call "the best days of my life". People who romanticize their student years may well have forgotten the hours of very hard study to pass exams, the generally makeshift accommodation, and the eternal money shortage when one does not have rich parents or wouldn't accept a nickel from them even if they were. But I did sense that this was the last chance I had (before retirement, that is) to immerse myself in general knowledge, and so took out books from the venerable university library that had nothing to do with my studies, loaned "ethnic" music from the public library, went to "foreign" shops to buy oddities like Turkish Delight (imagine bits of sponge made out of sugar), and attended culture-steeped performances like the djembe concert by two famous percussionists from Burkina Faso, and flamenco played by someone who was Dutch, but such a master in the art that he was highly esteemed by its native practitioners. I even went to Artis.
Having been a student at a time when grants were relatively high and university fees not quite so high yet, I was certainly lucky to have the time and money to do all this. In general, I was a student and therefore invisible, and have never again known the freedom I had then.
Entering Amsterdam Central Station, as I did every day of the week: dilapidated old storehouses along the railway tracks. Since accommodation was always a problem, I almost fantasized about living there, and not because they looked so suitable for habitation. Still, I preferred the dilapidated ones over the ugly modern ones.
The inside of the station, with its steel construction roof where pigeons roost and splat droppings on people's heads. In a particularly bad storm somewhere last century, passengers were requested to leave the platform in case the roof blew off and crashed on them.
The outside of Amsterdam Central Station. As opposed to the situation in Leiden, this really is a main station, with smaller stations - Amsterdam Bijlmer, Amsterdam Muiderpoort, Amsterdam RAI andsoforth - dotted all over town.
The back of this station is as busy and bustling as the front. It leads to the ferry that crosses Amsterdam's lake, "het Y".
Moving away from the station, on the stretch of road between Dam and Spui, the high clock that has an actual bell hanging in the round opening above it.
A "kraakpand" (house occupied by squatters, for political motives; people who owned buildings and kept them empty waiting for the price to rise, while the city had serious housing problems, found those houses invaded and taken over by idealists who decried such money-making practices) colourfully painted with the snake of capitalism. The white square to its right, in lettering not visible on this photograph, tells the tale of the inhabitants' legal fight against the owner. Since I don't often go to Amsterdam these days, I've no idea how it ended.
A multi-storey bookstore where students buy their books.
The street (Nieuwezijdse Voorburgwal, if I remember correctly) along which some university buildings were lined up: the "Bungehuis" with its green mosaic interior and rough-stone exterior, cool and hushed as a church, and the modernist see-through "PC Hooft-gebouw" with its glass walls and cleverly designed staggered staircases.
Amsterdam's main square, "de Dam", with some buildings that are imposing indeed; notably "de Bijenkorf", the Dutch equivalent of Harrods. Dutch hippies used to gather for mass protests here, and the police would spray them off with a very large hose - all long before my time, of course. The last picture shows one of the entries into the maze of streets behind the Dam, where one can find bookshops, porn/pot shops, chicken tikka sandwich shops and fashion shops all jumbled together. Somewhere here is a New Age shop I used to visit and a condom shop called the "Gulden Vlies" which is a translation of the famous Golden Fleece of Greek mythology, but also a pun because "vlies" doesn't mean fleece in the sense of pelt, but is a thin covering or skin. Their shop sign showed two pseudo-Grecian silhouettes chasing each other, one of them waving a condom. Always good for a smile.
Starting from the Dam, the tourist route: Rokin. Lined with exotic restaurants and places to change currency, although there is an arrow somewhere discreetly pointing down to the "Sex museum" (depictions of genitals in all possible media - even knitted ones, I've been told) and, inevitably, tacky souvernir shops. The bottom-most picture shows exactly how tacky. Rather a contrast to the fantasy shop in Leiden, although I'm sure Amsterdam has its share of fantasy shops.
Still in the centre, but on the outskirts of Amsterdam's famous waterways: Leidseplein, where one can catch trams and buses to all parts of Amsterdam and beyond. The location of Paradiso, which used to be some hippie commune and is now the place to watch concerts by Mano Negra, the Red Hot Chili Peppers and all those other bands I didn't see.
Back on the waterways: a visit to Amsterdam is not complete without a boat trip plus guide, a boatful of heads obediently swivelling from left to right and back as the guide points out the sights.
