Amsterdam Stag Weekend

It's been over two weeks since my last entry, but preparation for the wedding and a full weekday schedule of work means I really haven't had the time to update the blog. Part of that marriage preparation was the Stag Weekend I enjoyed in Amsterdam last week. Knowing the code of what goes on tour, stays on tour, I shall divulge the savoury aspects.
First of all, it was glorious weather - ideal for a foreign jaunt, as the sun makes everything look better, the perfect setting. On the Friday we hit the Anne Frank museum - a moving experience - relaxed with beers on a bridge over one of the many canals, had a Mexican meal (my slices of beef were marinated in cactus and Mexican sauce) and wandered through the red light district. This took window shopping to new heights (or depths) of meaning, as we passed by scantily clad prostitutes displaying themselves for interested punters. Personally, though there were a few beautiful ones, it was rather like being in a butcher's shop with slabs of meat hung on hooks in terms of eroticism. We went to a club in that area and after a little bit more walking (we did a lot of that), the others went home and Jon and I took one of the group to the central station (he had to catch a flight back to see Crystal Palace in a play-off match - given the result, he probably wish he had stayed in Amsterdam). Jon and I talked about this woman on the night bus we caught back to our hostel. We got off a stop too early by mistake and a minute or so later, the woman walked in our direction "Hi boys," she called out. She was, in fact, Scottish and had understood everything we had said. She took it in her stride though and gave us directions home. As we needed to make a decision on which way to turn after advancing a bit, there was a young English woman who pointed the way. these fellow Brits were very well placed.
On getting into the hostel we found the other group who had left England late had arrived and taken our beds, so we went into the other room we had hired. We were so tired we were beyond caring.
On the Saturday, somehow most of us stumbled out of bed for breakfast, of which the croissant was the most edible. Simon Savory was a bit of bed bug, steadfastly ensconced in eiderdown, until told by me realyed, by Chris Brown that the bottle of whiskey had been polished off, at which point he sat bolt upright in bed ans satrted accusing his fellow travellers, despite Alex Goff telling Simon that it was the latter who had done the polishing. Exploring Amsterdam again, we ran into this pro-China rally, organised on the pretext of supporting the Olympic Games. There was the usual sign explaining what BBC and CNN stood for, as favoured by each overwhelmingly powerful culture or clique, that feels persecuted when it persecutes others and is shown to do so. The guys in the giant Olympic rubber suits that were the cute symbols China has designated as Olympic symbols must have been dying in their own sweat. Maybe all that muffling had a positive effect, as the crowd were treated to an ear-splitting, cloying song called "Friends Forever," which was delivered by tone-deaf Chinese singers. What was most odd was that there were no pro-Tibet or any protestors and posters in restuarant windows showed the event had been well flagged.
Reaching another canal near the Anne Frank museum, we decided to indulge in a spot of pedalo wars. We pedalled along the waterways of Amsterdam, avoiding huge tourist boats with, at least in the pedalo I was in, consummate ease. Others sometimes ending up going backwards. Eventually, we reached our destination, the Heineken brewery, but as we figured earlier it was closed, so we moseyed on over to a nearby bar where we had more beers and I had a huge strawberry pancake with whipped cream. I can still taste it. We headed back to the centre of Amstersdam and went into the sex museum. I wouldn't say it was an eye-opener, but there were some pretty weird acts being depicted, notably one involving a woman and two octupuses (being a Japanese drawing, the obvious pun of octopussy was avoided as its title). One of the Marilyn Monroes from the Seven Year Itch display had been removed for, ahem, maintenance, but other sections showed her development as a sex icon. The Dutch called that film Seven Years of Reflection which doesn't quite capture its essence. As night closed in, we returned to the red light district and entered another club, which was a good deal of fun.
On Sunday, the late arrivers left first to begin their long drive back through Holland, Belgium and France. The rest of us went off to a pancake place and the headed to the famous old bridge of Amsterdam and even saw it in working operation to let a boat pass under it. then we went back to the airport and getting on the plane travelled back in time, leaving Schipol airport at 17.20 and landing at Heathrow at 17.15. As the jolly pilot said we had left the Netherlands expeditiously. As for the weather, "that's easy - the same as the Netherlands; warm and sunny," according to our happy air captain. What a wonderful weekend.