We probably hatched the idea while playing Scrabble in the Pines. Who remembers? But Dan, Chris and I inaugurated our annual alphabetical world tour with Amsterdam over the first Thanksgiving holiday of the new millennium. Somehow, I convinced them to share a room with me to keep expenses down.
Tom, who worked in the travel business, got us a deal at a hotel near the train station. I slept in a rollaway bed.
Although details are a bit blurry a quarter-century later, we must have taken a canal boat ride.
Dan insisted on going to the zoo, where the camel looked chilly. I still wear that plaid Pendleton shirt. It and several others in my closet at 47 Pianos belonged to Uncle Cliff, my favorite.
Delft ornaments and tulip bulbs and flowers reminded me of an earlier visit to the Netherlands with my parents. I bought a cow for Tom's and Audrey's Christmas tree in Bernardsville.
Somehow, the exhibits at the Torture Museum weren't nearly as titillating as they had been when my father took me. They ranged from the Spanish Inquisition chair
. . . to the French Revolution guillotine.
Chris chose more high-minded activities. After touring the Anne Frank House, he suggested we spend a morning at the Dutch Resistance and Jewish Historical museums. Both were fascinating, and my travel interests began to include history as well as art and pop culture. Thank you, Chris!
Like everyone else who goes to Amsterdam, Dan and I couldn't wait to buy some hash. The three of us also visited a bath house which, we discovered, was an excellent place to solicit restaurant recommendations from locals. Dan made a friend, although I don't believe he was Dutch. They stayed in touch for years.
*exceptions make the rule
