The city of canals

So, I’m still in Amsterdam. It’s a really fun city, and my trip is fully underway. Yesterday, I went to lunch and spent the afternoon with some US-people (America is a continent, so “Americans” means “people from the continents of America”—what do you call people from the US?): we got omelets in De Pijp, a hip neighborhood in Amsterdam near the museum district. It was nice to get out of De Wallen, where the hostel is: it’s an intensely-touristed part of the city, but nice enough. We sat in a Sarphatipark, which is beautiful; all the Dutch cities I’ve visited so far are well greened: trees line the canals, and green spaces abound. The US nationals I was with (Frank Lloyd Wright (a famous US architect of the first part of the 20th century) designed a series of houses he called “Usonian”, because “American” didn’t mean the right thing), being from the US, immediately made friends with the US citizens (the Esperanto word is “Usono” for the country, “Usonano” for a person from the US) sitting next to us (parentheses are a power that is easily abused).

One of those whom I was spending time with had lived in Amsterdam for several months; he suggested that we rent a small boat and ride around the canals. In the meantime, we picked up a French friend from the hostel. The boat rental was a good idea, but it was fortunate that he was an experineced driver: even though the boat was slow, the canals are narrow, busy, and winding; it would be all too easy to bump into a bridge or wall. Still, as the late afternoon sun painted the 17th century town houses clustered against the canal a soft gold, we admired the beauty of this city in which we found ourselves. Because it was a boat trip, and this is what happens, the sun set and we were suddenly freezing (the days are relatively warm, sweater or jacket but not winter coat weather; the nights, though, get quite chilly). What’s more, the dizzying one way system bamboozled our fearless captain, and we ended up one canal over from the place where we were to return the boat (Amsterdam is built on concentric rings of canals, which open into the habor but which are cut off from one another in their middles). We called the place to let them know what had happened, and they, in their straightforward Dutch way, said “that sounds like a you problem”. So we were about half an hour late. The little electric canal boat did its best, but it was limited to 5 or 6 km/h: no wakes in Amsterdam’s canals, and these tourist models are speed limited, presumably to prevent property damage.

So we made it back and returned to the hostel. We promptly went to the rooftop terrace and unwound: our poor host did an excellent and generous job showing us around Amsterdam, but he was properly embarassed at the way the boat ride ended. Also, one of our number was well intoxicated and made a right ass of himself with the poor boat rental people, who could not have been older than me. As our friend put it, “I need you not to be tourists for a little bit”, as we made our way back to where we were staying.

On the roof, we encountered a large group of Germans, whose English ranged from rudimentary to better-than-mine. My French friend and I were delighted to encounter another francophone (a Belgian), and spoke volumously in French. The Germans spoke German, and at the edge, the francophones and I spoke English with the Germans whose English was strongest. Several of our member spoke Spanish, as well.The USonian (maybe it’d be easier to call him a “Californian”, which he was) who made an ass of himself with the boat rental people was, predictably, making an ass of himself here, too: he kept yelling “speak English!” and mocking the Germans’ language. I could tell that the Germans were complaining about him, but wanted to make sure. I didn’t, however, didn’t want to ask in English lest the Californian hear, so I saked the Belgian in French, and he asked a German in Spanish. They were, in fact, complaining about him. Maybe this is what Wittgenstein meant by “language games”.