Going Dutch

We have been to Amsterdam a few times before in our lives, but we only "got" the city on our last visit a few days ago.

My first introduction to the town came right after university when a friend and I backpacked around Europe for three months. Amsterdam was one of our last stops and it was the only time I ever stayed in a youth hostel. It scarred me for life. Like Scarlett O'Hara swearing that she would never go hungry again, I swore never to stay in a place like that again. And I haven't. That experience, though, colored how I felt about the city. Until now.

If I lived in Amsterdam, the first thing I would do is get a bike.

There are 750,000 people in the city and 600,000 bicycles. To discourage thieves, the bikes are well worn and plain. People steer the high handlebars sitting erect. Sometimes they attach wagons in front for their children. Kids are also carried in seats behind or in front of the cycler. We even saw a few strapped into infant slings. Friends ride side saddle on the back. No one wears helmets. On most streets the city is hushed, despite the presence of (a few) cars. The soft sound of methodical pedaling over cobble stoned streets is a memory I took away, along with the image of two friends riding side by side, carrying on a leisurely conversation.

The second thing I would do if I lived there is get a pair of stilts.

The Dutch are a robust and ruddy people. They are also tall. I've read they are the tallest in the world, with an average height of six feet for men and women. A question: With only the little country of Belgium between them, why are the Dutch so tall and the French so small?

John, who gets his height from Dutch ancestors, wryly offered a Darwinian explanation. Historically, when the dams burst and the sea flooded in, the likeliest survivors were those who could keep their heads above water.

They seem to be a practical and tolerant people, as evidenced in the following behavior:

1) Recognizing that the oldest profession will always have clients, they legalized prostitution. Those engaged in the trade even have their own union. They get mandatory medical check-ups four times a year. The police don't waste time setting up sting operations to arrest them or their customers.

2) Smoking cannabis is not illegal if done in a designated "coffeeshop." The tolerant Dutch think it is less harmful than drinking, and not as likely to lead to violent behavior. If one were so inclined, s/he could stop by a "coffeeshop" on the way to dinner and puff on things with names like "power plant," "amnesia haze," and "train wreck." On the other hand, ordinary smoking is forbidden in bars, restaurants, and the like. It's bad for your health.

3) If you are terminally ill, in great pain, and wish to end your life, euthanasia is allowed after a set of guidelines are followed.

4) Homosexuality is completely accepted. In our former diplomatic life, John's counterpart from the Netherlands lived openly with his partner. There is even a Homomonument in the city, made up of three large pink granite triangles. During their occupation of the country in World War II, the Nazis made gays wear a pink triangle.

I've read that the Dutch have reached their tolerance level when it comes to immigration, though. Like most countries in Europe, and certainly in the United States, this is a big issue.

However, on a long and (unusual) sunny weekend it was pleasant to roam the streets of Amsterdam looking at the narrow and ancient houses, eating apple pancakes, sitting outside on the terrace of Cafe Americain, cruising slowly through the canals, and NOT staying in a youth hostel. It all added up to a real Dutch treat.

Falling Ash

Who knew that volcanic ash would become a subject we discussed over breakfast? That we would monitor its progress across Europe to determine when we could safely fly out of England? That its falling residue would concern us?

In case you have been ignoring all forms of news, a volcano erupted in Iceland, sending a thick plume of volcanic matter high into the atmosphere. It created a real threat to aviation. The cinders can interfere with jet engines, shutting them down in mid-flight.

It happened in 1989, when a KLM 747 lost all four engines en route to Alaska. The plane flew into a cloud of ashes from an erupting volcano 150 miles away. It dropped 14,000 feet before the pilots could restart the engines. As it fell, the Dutch pilot spoke to the passengers: "We are sorry to report that we have lost all four engines. We are trying our best to re-start them. I hope this does not cause you too much distress."

Of course not.

To prevent such a terrifying recurrence, all the airports in Britain and a good part of Europe have been closed for over two days, stranding passengers all over the world. We just heard that all flights out of London are cancelled tomorrow, too. We have friends who can't get out of Paris or Rio. That's rough.

Our plans to fly to Amsterdam for the weekend were scuttled by the lingering ash cloud. Our schedules had aligned nicely with the brief opening period of the Keukenhof Gardens, which the book "1000 Places to See Before You Die" tells us we must do. John says it is the most expensive book he ever bought because I make travel plans built around the places it suggests. He came to that conclusion after observing me going methodically through the book, checking things off. What did he expect?

We'll miss the Gardens this year. Instead of tripping through thousands of tulips, we'll stay in London and follow the slow progression of the ash cloud and the rapid pace of the British elections.

Notwithstanding the pedicures (or not) of the wives of the candidates (see "Toe to Toe," April 14) the first debate yielded a big victory for Nick Clegg, the leader of the Liberal Democrats. Voters deemed him the winner, which may now make the real contest between him and Tory David Cameron, with incumbent Gordon Brown a distant third. Newspapers are comparing Clegg to Barack Obama and calling the debate a game changer.

Those not invested in the outcome called it a channel changer.

Toe to Toe

(Guardian)

We arrived back in London on Monday morning. As we rode from Heathrow into the city, a giant billboard caught our attention: there was Prime Minister Gordon Brown, shown with his eyes half-closed, as he often is, smiling while framed by the words "I doubled the national debt. Vote for me." Along the road, more followed: "I took billions from pensions. Vote for me." "I let 80,000 criminals out of jail early. Vote for me."

The Brits do sarcasm so well.

Nasty as it is, I think the poster campaign might be effective. Are they telling the truth or twisting the facts? I don't know, but it doesn't matter. Enough people will remember those posters when they enter the voting booth, and that can't be good for Gordon Brown.

The British elections will take place on May 6. The date was announced on April 6, which opened the month-long campaign season for prime minister and seats in Parliament. Unlike American elections, which drag on forever, the Brits get it all out there in thirty days. The first debate of three will take place tomorrow night. The candidates for prime minister are: Labour party incumbent Gordon Brown, Tory leader David Cameron, and Nick Clegg of the Liberal Democrats. The real contest is between Brown and Cameron, with Clegg possibly becoming a power broker by creating an alliance with one of the other two parties.

By all accounts, no clear leader has yet emerged in the polls. As an expatriate I can sit back and observe the action without the fierce emotions I felt during the last American campaign, when I was capable of primal savagery.

Gordon Brown is a lumpy fellow, often called "hapless," though his heart seems to be in the right place. He is reported to have a terrible temper. I've read that President Obama found him "a downer" and thinks he is on his way out.

David Cameron is physically attractive in a soft, British upper class kind of way, which is where he comes from. He is often called "an empty suit," a "toff" with no understanding of working people.

Thanks to the ever-vigilant British press, I've become aware of the wives of Brown and Cameron. You might say I know them down to their toes. In the battle of the little piggies, Samantha Cameron is the clear winner.

Photographed recently wearing peep toe shoes (from Zara, surely to show that she is, in fact, one of the people), she displayed an immaculate, "sleek" pedicure, though her choice of black polish led some papers to describe her as "goth." Several photos zeroed in on her feet so voters could decide for themselves if a man married to a woman who paints her toenails black would be a good prime minister.

Poor Sarah Brown suffered mightily by comparison. While visiting a Hindu temple earlier this week, she was forced to remove her shoes. "Frightful" was the way one paper described her feet. The ubiquitous press used their telescopic lenses to reveal yellowed toenails and one deformed little piggy. "She clearly doesn't have it nailed," "Badly in need of a pedicure," the papers proclaimed. As voters inspected the unattractive feet of Sarah Brown, were they wondering if a man married to a woman who neglects her toenails could lead the country?

The attractive Mrs. Clegg has not shown her bare feet, though she appears to be a woman who would take care of her toes. Should voters look at Mr. Clegg more closely?

The candidates will come together tomorrow night to debate the serious issues facing Britain: the economy, unemployment, immigration, the decline of the National Health Service, the upsurge in crime.

Voters being who they are, though (I have only to mention Sarah Palin here), there will be some thinking about the really important issues, like the state of Mrs. Brown's toes or Mrs. Cameron's possible Gothic tendencies as evidenced in her choice of toenail polish. As the candidates go head to head, their partners are going, at least in some widely read newspapers, toe to toe.