LIZ SAYS:
7. WiFi in cafes and restaurants is rare.
I hope this a temporary thing,
but I couldn't even pick up a GPS signal on my phone. My sense of direction is non-existent, so GPS is my favorite tool.
Data roaming is way too expensive, so I have to make sure that's off. But the city does not seem to provide or promote satellite juice for all my favorite toys, my iPhone and apps, a laptop or iPad.
Half of my phone calls failed sometime during the call. I was using the local service, so it just seems to be limited or mediocre. But, I did notice today that unlike Paris, almost no one in a cafe was looking at their phone, texting or whatever. You are there to eat or drink, playing with toys does not count as either.
8. When we first arrived, our Amsterdam neighborhood seemed really quiet. We have a great view of a canal and, if we stick our heads out the window, two bridges, one in either direction. That was a Tuesday. The harshest sound we heard for the next two days was a city bike cop using a portable saw to cut a rusted locked bike loose. Okay, one dog barked maybe two, three times.
But, behold the weekends, when all bets are off. The party cometh. Friday night, it was the usual "wooh wooh" of any city that has a one beer and boys verging on manhood. Saturday morning, I awoke to the sound of the canal boat tour speakers, sounding like the muted whaa, whaa, whaa of Charlie Brown's teacher. Then, there is this wild thing, a sort of calliope on wheels playing some maniacal polka music. It's horrible, cartoony music playing at a hardcore pace, creepy like a clown close up. Speaking of close, once I was near the thing, you'll do anything to make it leave. Like the violinist in an old movie, that keeps playing for the couple who is having an argument in a restaurant.
I thought the neighborhood guy with the one note accordion in Paris was annoying. The calliope comes with 3 attendants. Two shook their very efficient brass money cups to the music, whilst the third peddled it's bike-like carrier to the next set of tourists. Now, not everyone was a tourist but everyone did want the noise to go away. So, when the guy came up snapping his wrist making the brass box bite at you, you gladly gave him money.
To add insult to injury, the insane organ thing has a motor, so the guy doesn't really even have to peddle the bike. The whole troupe fits on the thing and it has a motor. They go flying by at like, 25 miles per hour when they are finished and you feel like you have been the tourist version of punked.
9. There are some dirty, rotten, cheating taxi drivers out there.
I have had several taxi rides in this city and I can say that your really have to watch out for cheats.
Two taxi drivers did not have meters but did have a real lighted "taxi" sign on the car. Both of them lied and said that the minimum charge was ten dollars. The minimum is 7.50, we were charged the minimum earlier.
One guy tonight tried to tell me that it would cost twelve euros to take a trip we had taken three times before. By this time, I was so sick of being ripped off and tired after walking all day, that I insisted that the minimum fare was 7.50 and that I would not pay the inflated 12 that he was asking for. He turned around and started yelling, "What you want lady?". I said," I want to go to this address for 7.50." He half-heartedly pretended not to understand English anymore. But, he was certainly willing to go off on me, he was really yelling.
It was the most uncomfortable ride back to the apartment because by now, he was just cursing me in a lower voice. But, as it turned out he had a meter on the floor, yeah, on the floor. And the fare on the meter, seven fifty. Just so you know, in Paris , the minimum is 6.20 and is prominently displayed on the back of the headrest on the front seat.
10. The bird life puts on fantastic shows.
I just sat down on the canal bank and watched the ducks, coots, swans, gulls and the occasional heron swim, dive and swoop. It is equally fun to slowdown and, watch the boats maneuver through two bridges,a lock and around each other.
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