We were pleasantly surprised with how great the room looked. We had expected a shoe box, but it was big, very big which lifted our spirits.
Had a tasty pizza round the corner from the hotel. Everything 5€ – a real bargain. Pretty much any flavour of pizza your heart would desire although mine would definitely not desire the pizza con frutta – cheese, tomato sauce, banana, peach and pineapple.
Settled down for the night exhausted glad that wherever we slept there would be no rocking.
The cover had fallen down from the bed in the night. Pulling it up I found it was soaking wet, as was the floor around the sink. So busy had we been admiring the ceiling in our room we hadn’t noticed the sinks faulty plumbing. Perhaps this is why the owner was banging on about the ceiling in the first place, so we wouldn’t notice the small matter of a mini flood in our room. Keep your eyes upwards and you’ll be OK.
Pete got up to tell the owner. The deputy manager came up. Pete discussed the issue in hand earnestly, giving several theories as to where the leak could come from. I need to point out that during all of this carry on I was propped up in bed, wearing an inside out nightie, hair up in the air and a molten cherry tomato burn on my chin.
She left, bringing up the manager quickly afterwards, the owners husband, who I imagined was called Jenson last night. Jenson did tell us his real name but it’s hard concentrate when you’re still in bed. Jenson said he’d had a bad heart attack last June and he wasn’t going to get stressed about anything. At the foot of my bed Pete and Jenson exchanged their theories as to what it was. Jenson like his wife had an unbelievable amount of hair on his head. Whatever it did turn out to be it was fixed when we got back later in the day.
After all of that we decided to have a morning drink at the American Bar, highly swanky place. The sort of place that makes me feel incredibly ‘humble’. It is the oldest grand café in the Netherlands, dating back to 1902. The beautiful art nouveau interior was breathtaking, with leaded-glass windows, enormous antique chandeliers, a collection of precious art and impressive murals.
We headed to the Amsterdam Torture Museum to see the 40 instruments of torture they have accumulated from across Europe. Uncertain why this was the first stop of our holiday but maybe having survived the torture of the journey over we were up for anything.
One of the first objects we saw was literally an instrument of torture.
This contraption was used to torture bad musicians. It was shackled to the musician’s neck, their fingers were then clamped to the keys, to give the impression they were playing the instrument. Finally, just to further their humiliation, they were forced to wear the flute while being paraded around town, so the public could throw rotten food and vegetables at them. Imagine using it now, I would have a huge list of ‘musicians’, including Pete at times.
The museum was particularly pokey. Small dark corridors and low lighting to increase the feeling of doom and gloom.
We were the only visitors apart from someone we thought was French or Italian. Standing by a particularly gruesome metal contraption the French/Italian man turned to us and said he was disappointed with the whole experience. Look, look at this, he said. The place needs to be more interactive, imagine how much fun it would be for a child to walk into this.
I looked at him and then looked at the instrument of torture dubiously. I don’t think he saw the look on my face. The man continued, you see he said if you want a more interactive experience in this museum you need to have headsets. You must go to the Red Light Secret Museum. He enthused, it’s so authentic, you get to hear from actual, real prostitutes and their lives. I thought this sounded grimmer than the Torture Museum. With over 75% of prostitutes coming from Africa, Eastern Europe and Asia, I can’t imagine their stories made for happy listening.
So I said, what about listening to stories of people who have been tortured using these things?No, the man said firmly,no point they are dead. You need lots of screaming to give it a bit more atmosphere. Interesting slant on things I thought….
From here we went past Waterlooplein, the site of Amsterdam’s oldest flea market. Must have got a bad day as it seemed really lacklustre. Having been previously on many occasions I was underwhelmed.
Walking round you get a sense of how many canals there are in Amsterdam. Although we are hardly unlikely to see all 165 of them while we are here. Pete always says very random things when we are away, making connections where I don’t think there are any. Looking round Pete exclaimed that he thinks Amsterdam is really like Whitby. I can’t see it myself.
Our next stop was the Hash, Marijuana &Hemp Museum which is a tribute to the history of hemp and cannabis. It was very slick, we were given devices that we could aim at marijuana leaves and we got a running commentary in English. It was odd because the person doing the audio description sounded so posh she sounded like she had been born with a canteen of silver cutlery – let alone a spoon. It seemed an odd juxtaposition with the subject matter.
The first thing we got to do in the museum was have our photo taken.
It was really interesting and I especially liked the old posters.
I hadn’t realised how versatile hemp is and how for many it’s considered the most important plant on the planet. We found out that for thousands of years, humans have used parts of the hemp plant for food, textiles, paper, fabric, and fuel oil. We also found out that with modern processing technologies it’s possible to create alternatives to petrol , plastic, and other petroleum products that can help us lessen our reliance on polluting and expensive fossil fuels.
Pete had booked a free tour of the Gassan diamond works. Another informative session. It was all quite swish, but we are easily pleased. They had a shop where we got free coffees so we had a couple while we waited for our slot.
We started on the second floor of the building, where a young woman went through the process of cutting the diamond etc. There were people working away, I am not certain how they could do it day in and day out.
The blurb said ‘You will be escorted by one of our guides to the cutting and polishing area. Here you will be able to see skilled diamond polishers at work while our guides will explain the process of transforming a rough diamond, into a dazzling brilliant cut, or our own exclusive cut the ‘GASSAN 121’ world patent of GASSAN Diamonds’ basically Gassan an cut a diamond 121 times, so that they look really sparkly.
We could then wander round some side rooms where the display cabinets were full of all things diamond. None of the things had a price tag. I think the place is for people who don’t need to know about how much things cost.
We were the ushered into another room and the door closed behind us. We sat round a large desk and the woman proceeded to give us each a card. A quick guide to work out how valuable diamonds are and why. So it’s basically to do with the 4 Cs: carat, colour, clarity and cut.
She then proceeded to unwrap small packages of diamonds. Starting with small ones, worth approximately 250 euros and ending with the big finale of one worth 52,000 euros. Then we had the opportunity of a question and answer session.
So an English woman starts by asking lots and lots and lots. Then she finished off by asking whether if you wore a ring with a 52,000 euro diamond in it, would it get damaged. I couldn’t stop myself, it was like Tourette’s bursting to get out, ‘Well,’ I said, ‘if you can afford to wear a ring that expensive, the chances are that you will probably have a cleaner.’ Pete then asked if Gassan sourced diamonds ethically which seemed the perplex the young woman. She said she didn’t know, this led to a small discussion with some of the group. I looked it up later and the owner has stated they are sourced from’ non conflict’ zones but I don’t think this gives much peace of mind.
What I hadn’t fully realised was that this whole experience was in some ways like a glorified Tupperware or Ann Summers party. We were pretty much held captive and trays of jewellery and Rolexes were brought out, so that we could peruse and buy. I tried various rings on to show willing.
I really didn’t think anyone would buy anything. But I was wrong… A loud American woman bustled to the front. She exclaimed that she loved diamonds, absolutely loved them. Now I had had my crash course on the 4 Cs I think I could pretty much tell that her fingers were dripping in cut glass if anything. She had to have a watch with one diamond in it’s face, but then she saw from the side of her eye ones with 12 diamonds. She had to have it. She whipped her cards out, stopped and thought she should run it past her corpulent looking husband. I hadn’t even realised he was part of the group, he was crouched over his phone texting all the while. Grunted when his wife spoke to him, which she must have interpreted as an enthusiastic approval. The deal was done.
We were released and had to exit through another shop, full of Rolexes!
Random Acts of Travelling 