Belgique

It's a late start on Sunday after our Hilarious Saturday night. I play some guitar, cook a curry, watch the eastenders omnibus, and then get a phone call from the Bulgarian bride. She's in the centre meeting some friend's for a drink and they are meeting at 6.30pm on Dam Square:



A quick phone call to The Kiwi tells him to go there after kick boxing instead of home.

The Bride has a colleague staying with her for a week while she carries out a placement. She is from Moldovia, so I can tick off another country in my book of friends. Also present is Obi Wan and a Bulgarian friend from the wedding.

Tonight we are targeting Belgique:



Belgique is a small Belgian beer bar which nestles in the heart of Amsterdam's busy shopping street up a back alley. It is so small that it only has about 8 seats, luckily, the building across the road has scaffolding on it and they have hung hammocks from it. We claim some hammocks and then Obi Wan and I hit the bar.

He takes great delight in acting as waiter for the first roun of Kwak's as the beer comes in a very strange glass:



We swing from the hammock's and enjoy the fine beer. Obi wan is teaching us Dutch. The Kiwi asks:

"Heb jouw een grote slaapkamer?" = "do you have a large bedroom"

The Bride declares "He's leading the witness!". The Kiwi already knows that Obi Wan has a large bedroom, where each corner represents a different planet for lego spaceships to fly to:



Before long, it's time for the Diemenites, to head southwards, and The Kiwi, the Bulgarian and I stay for a few more beers before we head home to eat the curry and hit the hay. Before we hit the hay we have partaken in the following beers:

Amsterdam's own Zatte:


A Chimay blue:


And a St. Bernardus:

Ikea & Bittezoet

Today, I'm up early again to head off to Diemen to help as a lifter at Ikea:



I'm taking The Kiwi with me, as he works in the same Multinational as The Bride and they've never met. He can also help with lifting.

It's the usual leisurly ride through the watergraafsmeer. The weather is starting to turn to Autumn, but it's still pleasant enough to go a bike run.

When we arrive, The Bride has another friend over to see the DVD of her wedding. It;s good to watch and rememebr the good times which seem so long ago in Bulgaria. I cringe at the moments where I have to watch myself dancing, but generally, it's a really professionally shot and put together DVD - theres even a very tastful shot of my kilt rising up in slow motion during dancing where you can see the bottom of my arse cheeks. The memories flood back, and the video evidence lets me fill in the wholes in my memory, such as the music which caused the mass movement towards clothed dancing in the pool(Paradise City by G N' R)

Eventually Obi wan arrives from a friends. He's very shy and quiet around the Kiwi at first, but soon enough he opens up. mainly because The Kiwi makes a huge mistake. While marvelling over Obi wan's lego creation of the Millenium Falcon, he casually mentions that he still has the original star wars toys back at home somewhere. Obi Wan demands that he goes to get them.

K: "They're in New Zealand, Bro"

OW: "Well go and get them"

K: "They're in Nieuwe Zeeland"(Trying the Dutch)

Me: "Do you know where New Zealand is?"

OW "Beetje Zuid??"(A little south??)

Me:" A lot south. You got a map??"
(We point out New Zeland)

Me: "Now how far away is Bulgaria"

OW: "Two Hours"
(This turns out to be the width of two Obi Wan fingers)
OW: "twee, vier, ses...." (He counts the number of fingers to New Zealand)

OW (Incredulous) "26 hours???"

And thus The Kiwi is welcomed into to the family of adults who wish they were still Star Wars loving kids. We have a quick light sabre fight and head down the stairs to head off to Ikea.

We get two metros to the Ikea, and do the tour. Ikea is great fun for some reason, especially with a kid. He' redecorating his room, so he has measuring tapes and a shopping list. After the 3 hours r however long ti take s to dow the circuit, we don't actually have any of the big furniture items which we came to carry, but we have enough bags of stuff, that we were required anyway, so after a qucik hotdog after going through the checkout it's tiime to head along to the metro and make our wway back to the centre.

Once home, I relax for a while, while The Kiwi heads off to meet some mates. I eventually join them. They are drinking in a bar in teh Jordaan. It's an area I don't know too well, but it;s a quite a pleasant bar. We watch the Holland game, which Gaurantee's England's entry to the world cup.(Scotland got beaten by Belarus)

After several Duvels it's off to club called Bitterzoet:



I've never been one for clubs, and one of my favourite things abotu Amsterdam is that the pubs open a lot longer than 11pm, so you don't have to rely on clubs for your alcohol needs of a weekend. This club was no different. It didn't regenerate some long lost love of clubs. It just reminded me of Magenta-clad Scottish slappers dancing to bad rave hits. I head home around 4am, after one of the longest Saturday nights in memory.

Back in the Dam: And back in the Kitchen

Tonight I wanted to do something a little different as some friends were coming round for dinner, and to see my travel photos. We had one German, one Argentinean and The Kiwi would be joining later. Both Argentina and Germany have had Haggis before, so while I wanted to do something Scottish, I couldn't rely on Haggis. Nick Nairn to the rescue:



I decided to opt for a fish dish. I never cook fish and anything with a non exotic fish can be considered Scottish. I settle on a dish which has Hake on a bed of Celariac Puree topped with deep fried parma ham and a red wine fish sauce. It's surprisingly easy, but the white fish, deep red sauce and parma ham make it look good.

At lunch time I have to go out and get the fish, on the way I run into a friend who is out getting food for his wedding on Thursday, so I end up coming to help do some lifting and ending up with a higher quality and quantity of fish than I had envisioned.

Once home, it's a case of running around to get everything done, but in the nick of time, my guests arrive and I serve up everything. We start with some oatcakes and cheese, which get snaffled pretty quickly - people are hungry and always underestimate how good cheddar cheese, arran mustard and oatcakes tastes:







A light summery Pea and mint soup followed this - hunks of fresh bread dipped into the soup and the conversation.

The red wine is flowing, the food is appreciated and I am showing off my photos of Scotland, Poland, Italy etc. It feels good to be back in Amsterdam - especially if I can keep getting people to join in on nights like this.

Now I deep fry the parma ham(New trick for me), and serve the main meal. I should have taken a photo, but with the cooking and the lack of time, I'd forgotten about the blogging. It just means I'll have to cook it again. At this point The Kiwi arrives and gets given a plateful. He's an asset to the conversation, as he has experience of both Japan and New Zealand and my German friend is about to go travelling there.

Washed down with a good bottle of red, it goes down a treat. I am the only one who has space to polish off a glass cranachan afterwards:



We don't really have that many deserts in Scotland, but Cranachan is one of them - layers of cream, berries and oats topped off with Whisky and honey makes it a pretty heavy dish - but it is very tasty. Ironically, it took me longer to prepare than anything else and no one eats it. Next time I'll give them an Irn Bru and bring the cheese board out again.

Back in the Dam: Out on the Pool

I had a really interesting night. I went, with The Kiwi, to a pool hall with some of his English work mates.

In Scotland, we waste much of our teenage and pub years playing pool. We have two scale's of "Ladness", how much you can drink, and how good a pool player you are. They aren't extremely valid currencies, and don't turn up that many CV's but they can come in pretty handy.

I enjoy a game of pool - we had a pool table in my high school, so we played quite a lot and I used to play a little bit of snooker(maximum break not much more than 8). Pool is not really that widespread in Amsterdam outside of tourist sports bars, so I was quite pleased to get invited to a pool hall to knock some balls around with the lads.

I was a little apprehensive, no matter how liberal and accepting Amsterdam is, pool is still something that's played in dodgy bars where you want to look good in front of people in order to avoid getting beaten up.

I'm pleased when I turn up and we are the only ones in the hall - this way if my pool playing has deteriorated beyond belief I put up with it for a while and then leave. Fortunately on my first shot i clear 6 of the 7 balls, and my positioning play is absolutely perfect.

The lads are suitably impressed, I'm suitably relieved and I can relax back into drinking a few quiet beers, enjoying some conversation and enjoying the luxury of not having to concentrate too much on my playing.

Drinks with British lads(And a kiwi) reminded me of the cultural differences. I felt like I was closer to home for the evening - same bad jokes, few beers, bad pool and relaxation. Couldn't hack it every night - but tonight was fun.

Back in Amsterdam with Satan, Gollem and a new flat mate

So late last night I returned to home for the first time in 2 weeks, and I'm going to spend the whole week here for the first time in 5 weeks. I settle into bed looking forward to my first long lie in over a month.

I'm woken up just after 10am by a knock at the door. It's my new flatmate. My previous flat mate moved out while I was off travelling. So on a day where I thought I could be adventure free for just a few days - I now have a new flatmate to meet.

He's a banker from New Zealand, and we decide to seal the relationship by going off to Bar Gollum that night.



Bar Gollem serves hunners(Scottish for many - one, two, hunners), of Belgian beers. We seem to have opted for a beer called Satan(http://www.satanbeer.com). Maybe the tiredness had taken my common sense away, but I didn't notice that this was a bad omen.




It's my recollection that we had 4 of those babies. The problem is that when you are drinking normal crappy(But oh so standardised) beer,



you start to feel it, and decide to have a last one before the off. With Belgian beer, that last beer shouldn't be taken, cos it is liable to change you from a little tipsy to completely plastered.

Luckily being a seasoned drinker, I recognise this - make my excuses and head for home. Unfortunately there is a further problem. The best means to get around in Amsterdam is by bicycle. I often cycle home with few drinks. I would never even think about getting in a car drunk, but cycling is less of an issue, cos the only person you can harm is yourself, and the small canal streets of Amsterdam ensure that there is little fast traffic.

Most sane people(Those who think twice before drinking a beer called Satan) would have walked or got a tram, but I decide to slowly cycle. All goes well - I'm listening to the beastie boys on my iPod, when taxi pulls out in front of me. I stop suddenly - normally not a problem - swerve a little and rattle my front wheel off the kerb. This is normally results in you losing control for a second but recovering, but in this case I take a tumble. Maybe because of the beer - maybe it would have happened anyway. Nothing serious, I fall over and land on my elbow. I think it is nothing an cycle on. By the time I get home my elbow is throbbing - I've grazed my elbow.

I realise several things now. The first is that children are hard as nails - never do I remember grazing something and it stinging like this. I try many things, sure that there is a parental secret to stopping a kid's grazed elbow from stinging. I have an ice lolly - I play with some lego - nothing works. I decide to give up and go to bed, but realise I should clean my elbow.

Having been in Scotland for the best part of 3 weeks and carried my mountain first aid kit around, it was used to cover blisters, the paracetamol cured a couple of hangovers, and then there was the aftermath of the drumstick fight.

Never did I think I would need it in such a flat country. I realise that I have no plaster's, no antiseptic cream, no nothing. I have a good think - pour some whisky(Only bell's) on it give it a wipe and head off to bed.

I'm looking forward to getting to know my new flatmate - any relationship which has scars to show when it started can't be half bad.