Read about urban adaptations to help our weasel friends (translated)
Due to ongoing urbanization, the habitats of certain animals can become isolated, which could eventually lead to these animals becoming extinct.
To reduce this obstacle, a walking ridge has been installed. Reeds have been planted at both ends of this wooden ridge to provide cover for small mammals such as the weasel and the stoat.
For the weasel, the bank forms an important hunting and roosting area. Its food consists mainly of voles, frogs, and insects. Shrubs and bushes provide cover while hunting. The weasel nests in burrows of other animals such as rats and rabbits, but also in niches of woodpiles.
It’s got a hot dog in it. My American sense of taste is stimulated.
Since this bakery sold something like a pastry with a hotdog baked into it, and because I’m an American, I had to buy it. It tasted … better than you’d expect something with a hotdog in it to taste.
I’m not sure I would feel safe working in it, but it sure looks cool.
I stopped at another café, in a more urban area. For the first time I actually deployed my bike lock in Amsterdam. I wasn’t really worried, but I knew I’d feel really stupid if I didn’t use the lock and the bike vanished.
I figured I was in a tourist area because everyone else in line at the café ordered in English. I asked for a mocha even though it wasn’t on the menu, and to my surprise they produced one. I gave it a 5.5 out of 10 and sipped it slowly, then chomped a dainty little salad of mixed greens. I felt coherent enough to do a little programming on the laptop.
Conversations in various languages ebbed and flowed around me, and even though I could understand most of them and even participate in one if I wanted, I felt a sense of isolation. It was like being inside a little person-sized aquarium. What was happening? I figured it was partly the anonymous crowding that would happen in any big city, partly the lack of a shared purpose, but mostly my status as a traveler. I wasn’t here to live my regular life, or even to do business like I imagined most of the sharply-dressed people in this coffee shop were. I wasn’t even having a normal tourist experience, because my bicycle and my electronic world played such a big role.
It was weird, but it wasn’t such a bad feeling that it ruined the moment. I passed a couple of pleasant hours writing code, then got back on the bike for more Seeing Of Beauty.
It was late enough in the day that my Mom was awake, so I texted her: “Tell me more about the stuff you saw in Amsterdam!”
She replied, “That was over 55 years ago, and I wasn’t there long. I saw poppy fields. I have a vague recollection of the Hague, and went to a Van Gogh museum. There were a lot of tall narrow buildings. We stayed in rooms on the third floor of a building that was accessed by narrow winding stairs, and they served a huge breakfast. I remember going to a deli and asking for a ‘broodje’ – a sandwich. That’s about it.”
I poked my maps and found the Van Gogh museum. I only had four days left in the area, but perhaps I could see that.
I continued north, choosing streets and lanes randomly. Many blooming flowers and small parks.
I just love blur sometimes. Yeah you can’t tell what it is, but it still looks nice.
I came across Amstelpark, a park that seemed kid-oriented, with little playground areas and a toy train that went in a meandering circle. There were signs posted saying “no bike riding”, and even though plenty of people disregarded that, I felt like I should be a polite guest of the country so I walked the bike.
It’s weird, adjusting to an environment where cars are not really a concern, but other cyclists are a constant hazard! If I hadn’t already been plunged into the insanity of bicycling Paris a few years ago, I think I would have real trouble with this…
Ducks! Geese! Flowers! Adorable little bridges! And best of all: An actual hedge maze!
Navigating this with a bike was every bit the hassle it was designed to be.
The day was moving on, and I intended to get to the canal area of Amsterdam. On I went. The buildings got taller and more squished together, and the cycling got more intense.
One day, this won’t be covered in offerings for the recently slain…
Since I was on the west side, I decided to head west a bit more and check out Rembrandt Park. That was pleasant, so I lingered there for a little while.
I picked a cyclist who was heading south – a tall gentleman with a nifty flatcap and one well-worn saddle bag on his bike – and followed him for over a mile, making my way back towards the house. Much easier than constantly checking a map.
Sometimes, the kids just need to nap right where they are.
The last interesting thing I saw before the house was another instance of bicycle-forward culture: Three young women were cycling together, and to make conversation easier they linked arms, making a formation. I never see this back home. It must happen every now and then, but I have never seen it.
I often see cyclists having conversations with one arm on their companion.
In bed for 13 hours, asleep for 9. Honestly not bad.
I knew I couldn’t do anything adventurous. Just getting through the day and falling asleep at the right time would be a victory. But I had to look around a bit, so… Time go find a series of bakeries!
The first one I hit was a recommendation from Zach, only a few blocks from their house.
As I was parking my bike outside, a woman about half my age said “good morning” in bright English. This impressed me for two reasons: First, it was obvious I was a weird foreign tourist; yep. Time to use English. And second, back home, young women just plain never greet older men out on the street.
I told Zach about it and he said “Oh yeah, people out here love greeting strangers.”
I emerged from the bakery with a delightful ham and cheese croissant. This actually set a high standard and it was hard to find a bakery that would top it.
The next place I found did coffee and pastries, so I bought some of each. I didn’t see any “no laptop” signs and there were people working on them around me, so I imported photos for a while. My brain was in no shape to do anything else.
Soon the coffee was gone and it was time for the next bakery.
Note the extra windshield on top for protecting the hands!
I was quickly learning that no particular maps application had all the best routes. To make sure I found the bike lanes but didn’t get sent onto a footpath or a busy sidewalk, I had to compare routes between Google and Apple maps, and then switch to Map Plus, where I could follow the route while viewing the OpenCycle Map.
In due time I found bakery number three of the day:
I bought two things, including another croissant, which I chomped while standing around outside. A nice and easy itinerary for a massively jet-lagged cycle tourist.
On the way back to Zach’s place I decided to take a detour through the nearby parkland:
The viaduct consists of a northern and a southern section. Both sections are being completely renewed and widened. We are carrying this out in the following steps:
Construction of a temporary viaduct on the south side of the A9, allowing the southern carriageway—carrying traffic towards the Holendrecht interchange—to use this temporary structure (the “bypass”). During this phase, the northern carriageway (for traffic towards the Badhoevedorp interchange) uses the old southern carriageway. This frees up the northern bridge deck for construction work.
Construction of the new, wider northern section of the viaduct.
Once the new northern section is complete, all traffic shifts to this side of the viaduct, making the old southern bridge deck available for demolition and reconstruction.
Burgemeester A. Colijnweg is also being shifted northwards so that the viaduct carrying the road can be demolished and rebuilt.
Once the new southern section is finished, the viaduct will be configured with four lanes in each direction.
As I was riding through, I saw some separated paths that were covered in sand instead of paved. I couldn’t figure out what those were for until two women on horseback rode by. Of course! Special paths for critters with hooves!
Every now and then I see a couple of these chillin’ by the side of the road.
“Oy oy!” said one of the riders, in a loud, boisterous voice.
I was all filled up with baked goods, but I wanted a drink to push through the rest of the day. I rolled closer to Zach’s house and found what he later told me was “the bougie part of Amstelveen, though it’s hard to tell because most of Amstelveen looks like that.” A café at a corner sold me a latte-like thing and I slowly drank it and poked around at maps, passing another couple of hours.
Getting from the plane to the customs area was complicated. We boarded a shuttle, which went weaving around for a while and dropped us at a building, then we went upstairs and around a bunch of roped corners like mice running a maze where the cheese at the end was Amsterdam. Along the way I spotted this:
Once we got to the line for biometric scanning and other digital shenanigans, an employee came by with a bag full of stroopwafels and handed them out indiscriminately.
For a while we were all trapped in tiny glass boxes where we had to hold our passports up to a machine and then grip a fingerprint reader while gazing into a lens. The feeling of being a laboratory mouse was really intense. Then we were released to find our bags.
I walked a couple miles of carpet and ramps, and managed to find my stuff by following the Airtags. The suitcases were where the displays said they would be, but the bicycle was at the wrong oversize station. I would have searched for hours without the Airtag. Whew!
I hooked everything together and pulled my long tail of luggage over to a relatively traffic-free spot, just inside the big revolving doors. For the next two hours I slowly, methodically re-assembled the bicycle, and unpacked the suitcases of gear onto it.
As I was doing that, a couple of security people wandered up, wearing all-black combat gear and carrying really enormous rifles partially strapped to their chests. (Can they even run with those things?) One of them asked me what was inside the box, which I had just finished closing up with straps.
“Nothing,” I said. “There used to be a bicycle inside, but I put it together.” I pointed at the bike. “Now I’m folding up the box for transport. My friend will take it when he arrives.”
“And what about those suitcases?” said one of them, indicating with a tilt of his head.
Drat. My plan had been to just abandon those at the airport, with a little hand-lettered sign saying “FREE!” I couldn’t tell the guard that.
“Oh, my friend is taking those too,” I said.
They nodded, and moved away to a different part of the enormous room.
Zach arrived just at the right moment, and after some big hugs we chatted about transportation. I could ride the bike to his apartment, but in the meantime, could he bring the big box there, in his car? He said he would. What about the suitcases? If he didn’t want them I could find some way to dispose of them later…
He said he would take those too. My hero!
And thus unburdened thanks to my friend, I emerged into the wild wilderness of the greater Amsterdam area. In less than a minute I found the first of many bicycle paths, all separated from the cars. Lovely!
A few minutes after that, I went through my first bicycle tunnel. A guy on a moped went farting past me at a startling speed, but still it was way better than being harassed by cars.
A first bit of Dutch graffiti. No idea what it means.
I had to add and remove my jacket, as the clouds obscured and then revealed the sun. My first of many “layer management” experiences, no doubt. It wasn’t long before the thrill of being outdoors on the ground again overwhelmed my sleep deprivation and I felt a bit hungry, so I chomped the free stroopwafel.
As I passed around the edge of the airport, I stopped and took some cool photos of the runway. Then I followed the OpenCycle map in the direction of Zach’s place, which took me on a nice series of bike paths, mostly through parkland.
If this was on a different continent, I’d call it a Burning Man bike.
Before I knew it, I was at the apartment. Zach helped me maneuver the bike into the back yard, and shortly after saying hello, I brought my things up to the spare room and went SPLAT.
Once I was indoors again, the exhaustion of a night without sleep hit me like a wave. Would going to bed in the early afternoon help with the jet-lag? Maybe; maybe not. Either way, it’s happening.
Like most of my previous bike tours, this one involves a huge pile of stuff. There’s the bicycle in a humungous box, but also two additional suitcases full of camping gear, parts, clothing, electronics, and so forth.
I worry about thieves grabbing my suitcases off the luggage carousels, so the more decorated and weird and eye-catching they are, the better. Luckily I had a fine artist on hand!
Jon arrived right on schedule and gave me a ride to the airport in his groovy truck, and helped me unload the gear when we got there. We had fun telling war stories about old software upgrades gone wrong, and the changing nature of our industry.
Thanks to this handy SFO Security Time Estimate web page, I could relax about the time it would take to pass through all the checkpoints when I got to the airport.
Jon got everything to the airport safely. Love that guy!
Well that was close! I had to pay the over-weight fee, but I didn’t have to pry open the box and shuffle things around like last time.
As I roamed around and located my gate, then settled in to do some paperwork, I checked the state of my luggage on my phone. The two suitcases and the bicycle slowly migrated across the airport, and by the time I was on the plane, the Airtags told me my luggage probably was too. Airtags are just wonderful for this sort of thing.
Here’s another reason I’m a lucky bastard: I can spend enough money to get a nonstop flight. Why does this matter to me? The dang luggage. A bicycle box is awkward, and relatively fragile. If it has to be moved between airplanes it will be messed with by airport personnel at least twice as much. And it’s quite possible one of them will damage the box or the contents while they’re mucking around inside looking for nuclear weapons or five thousand tiny snakes or whatever.
So, to ease my paranoia, I’m going non-stop. I could have potentially started the trip much closer to Norway – or in Norway – and tacked Amsterdam onto the end, but everything non-stop over there was brutally expensive. Plus, seeing Zach in Amsterdam was important. I didn’t want to defer that and potentially miss it.
And so, we flew nearly over the top of the world, in a straight line to Amsterdam:
As we passed over Greenland I looked down and saw an endless expanse of fog-shrouded snow, piled on top of itself and blown into long, curving valleys by the freezing wind. I thought of the jacket in my backpack, and the wee life vest that was supposedly somewhere beneath my chair.
Even if there was an actual airstrip down there, and the plane landed and rolled to a stop without any problems, we would all freeze solid long before any rescue could arrive. We wouldn’t even have time to resort to cannibalism.
On that note, time for dinner!
It’s harder to freak out about plane crashes when you’re constantly eating.
Northwestern arm of Iceland. It sure does look different in the winter!
I’d bypassed this on my first trip in 1999. That had been late summer, after the tourist rush, and I navigated a fair amount of wind and rain, but there hadn’t been a scrap of snow on those mountains. In the winter they’re a whole lot less inviting.
You ever try pedaling a loaded bicycle on a snow-covered road? If so, good job: You did the best that anyone can do, which is try.
I drifted in and out of consciousness a bunch, wearing noise-canceling headphones and an eye mask and using my inflatable pillow and the patch of blanket they give you for the flight. About all I could handle for input was episodes of The Goon Show, and when that was too complicated I just went with ambient music by Alio Die.
At long last we flew over land that wasn’t covered in snow, and as we spun around the airport I could see fields of flowers in long rectangles all around us.
Before I visited or even did any research on The Netherlands, I added it to my map of the gaps. This is what was in my head about the country, from pop culture or hearsay or dimly remembered school. (Of course, actually going there will change this a lot.)
I think this is, like, a suburb of Denmark, with even more windmills and wooden shoes, and fewer hills. And lots of flowers. I think some famous painters and scientists are from here. The guy who discovered microbes I think? Oh crap is Amsterdam here? Did I screw that up? That’s hideous. I’ll just move on…
The Netherlands according to Where In Europe Is Carmen Sandiego
